


The Living And the Dead

by Susamo



Series: The Adventures of the young Gos athor Atlan da Gonozal [10]
Category: Perry Rhodan - Various Authors
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:55:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26251519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susamo/pseuds/Susamo
Summary: At sera Krenna's workshop, young Atlan da Gonozal in his role as the merchanter orphan Cunor Lant'cer is confronted with an almost lethal problem, while Tscheketh doesn't give up and sends his minions to make real trouble. After the ensuing fight, the ones involved are arrested by police, and the Crystal Prince of Arkon faces another interview with zhyrtelor officer Jaskhor...
Series: The Adventures of the young Gos athor Atlan da Gonozal [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753825
Comments: 4
Kudos: 1





	The Living And the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> As always, note: Arkonides have red eyes and white hair and look like humans else. Only one or two organs, and especially their skeleton shows further differences as an Arkonide has bone plates instead of a human ribcage. 
> 
> Upon Arkonath measurement of time, see the notes of my previous works. A prago is a day, a tonta is an hour, a minute a khela, and a second a sarton, a moment a mithron. A year is a Tai-Votan, a Votan is a month, a berlon is a week.  
> Pragolar is midday, toktonlar is midnight.
> 
> A thark is a machine, a robot. 
> 
> An arbtan is a simple soldier, an orbton is an officer.
> 
> goth-shield; something that protects. goth zhym tar-protective screen, shield 
> 
> Tashmayim-Form of Arkonath theatre played with puppets (like Japanese Bunraku), the animators sitting openly at the back of the stage,(on their heels upon a lightly raised pedestal, called the Bench), operating the boards (like small tablets) for the puppets, momentarily unused puppets left at the sides.  
> to operate from the Bench- to operate from the background (hidden or unobtrusive)  
> -to have a Tashma’ hidden behind the Bench-to have an ace up one’s sleeve, unexpected resources one can throw  
> into the play to turn one’s luck (like a Deus ex machina)
> 
> Tai Ark’Tussan-Great Empire of Arkon
> 
> zhyrtelor-policeman (one who keeps order, keeps order safe) Zhyrro-short word, cop. Soransh’ Zhyrtelori-Drug  
> policemen. Soransh’ zhyrroi-Drug cops. zhyrta-Order. zhyrtacel-eye of order, police in general; Zhyrta’ athor-  
> police officer.
> 
> teelya toorya- Lit. “Grease to hold still” (or to keep silent), bribe money, especially meant for what an officer or  
> a policeman might get to look the other side.
> 
> Gos’Teaultokan, Crystal Palace, an alternative name for the Gos’Khasurn
> 
> Parth’fan! Get lost! (in the sand) rude challenge-meant: to be devoured by a yilld or an eltyan; from: ‘fanthyr lost,  
> (effante-to lose, partha-sand)
> 
> parang-gregarious animal, synonymous for dorkiness, dull, slow-witted persons 
> 
> perkharno, perkharna-lit. an “earth-digger”, an “earth-grubber”, a ground-hogger (“dirt-grubber”). Spacer term for planet-  
> bound people, somewhat derisive and depreciative. kharne-to dig, to grub. pertava- Earth, fertile earth good for  
> planting.
> 
> hukkas-a dare, a trial of courage. 
> 
> The Luykan pack-to throw someone to the Luykan pack. Equivalent to wolves, a bloodthirsty pack of carnivores ready to  
> rend anything they get limb from limb.
> 
> mehan’skhe: Skety-a sharp-fanged, quite vicious carnivore with a shining soft pelt, looking nice and placid as long as  
> one doesn’t touch or rouse it, then, if angered, swift and nasty; often used as a half deprecatory, half  
> appreciative address or swear-word at a mehandor. Vocative: mehan’skhe’.
> 
> zhdopan-“exalted one”, “august, illustrious one”.address for nobles
> 
> vohjo-dumbass, obtuse ox-head
> 
> tappol-backside, arse. 
> 
> debara-barren, deserted, -Debarra Hamtar, lit. the barren island-the galaxy. In fact what is meant is "the island within the  
> desert"

The Living And the Dead

The smell wafting from the kitchen was uplifting and prone to wake even the sleepiest one of the gang. Karena was brewing K’amana with what she called a twist, something spicy like tjilin but much more bracing and stimulating.  
Cunor got one of the first cups, settling at the table with his bowl of mash, and asked for another within shortest order and a bright smile. He looked more relaxed than he had yesterday, the girl thought, and happier than before. His step, too, seemed to have become a little springy. 

“Looks like you could do with some dancing, now and then, merchanter mate”, Rhonn said with a grin, observing the same, and sat with his own bowl and mug. “Apart from the other kind of dance you could take the time to learn, sometime.” He sent a meaningful look at Karena, who smiled quite sweetly at the young mehandor as she took her own cup over.

Atlan’s smile became a little stiff before it turned into a true grin. “I know how to, of course”, he said nonchalantly. “Just playing hard to get, for now. Catch me if you can.” Both were the titles of movies just popular and made the young famkarthona sputter. 

Rhonn’s grin became sly. “She’s a swift one, you know, Cunor”, he said. “What about a date? What’s up for you this morning?”

The young prince waved the offer away. “Work”, he answered shortly. “Sukkar pinged me on my way home, yestereve. He needs me this morning with a household robot the customer says she’s brought the third time. There’s something really wrong with it, and there are children in the household. Thark’s an originally expensive one, and the customer is a good one, so march-off, arbtan.”

“So you’ll work the whole prago through?”

“No.” Cunor waved his fingers again. “I’ll just have free time after pragolar. Perhaps I’ll walk around a little, get to know the vicinity. I haven’t had a closer look at our neighbourhood yet.”

“Savvy.” The gang-leader inclined his head. “I’ve got something to do, this morning. After, you’ll come with me. I’ll make my rounds, show you around.”

“Right-o.”It was a good idea, actually, to get to know the area under Rhonn’s guidance. This was the territory of the wenadoran he belonged to now, Atlan thought, a place he should know intimately. Waving to his wena’mates generally, he rose and left, determined to do well at the shop. Sera Krenna had said that she was well content with his performance so far, and he damned-to-Ereinnye wasn’t going to disappoint her with that servo bot!

The thing functioned well and did what it should-up to a point. Whether that point came after a certain amount of time had passed or a certain quantity of energy spent as yet had to be determined. But after that point, the servo bot either went dead and blank, went into self-repair mode, and powered up only after two or three tontas, or it started to riot, misinterpreting orders or doing just what came to what it had of a mechanic mind. That could mean that it repeated work done already, or that it started to carry things around, putting them down where they did not belong. As yet that kind of activity had not done much harm but that it annoyed the owners who couldn’t find their things. But what if by accident the robot hurt someone, especially the children? If it grabbed for one of them and carried it somewhere, like the roof of the car-port outside the house, and left the child there? That was not as absurd an idea as it seemed. The pet rourcaan of the family, a native kind of rodent without a pelt, but with a gleaming colourful skin, of the size of about two Arkonath’s fists put together, had in such a manner been stuffed into a box it barely could escape from after, wretchedly cheeping. Had the lid of that box closed properly the animal would have suffocated before anyone would have found it, and the youngest child of the family was just ten Votani of age and had begun to crawl around.

Sukkar had tried to interpret the misdemeanour of the robot, trying to find a twisted kind of sense behind it. But, Cunor explained, the point was that there was no sense in that thark’s actions at all. 

“The first indicator is that it tries to self-repair”, he said. “It knows it’s caught a bug. But searching it comes up blank, it seems, or the search is being blocked by that bug itself too. The standard procedure with a reboot is that a thark goes back to the last data-save it has done, which must be why it would repeat work already accomplished. That proves that the program structures of the thing are good and sound. It just doesn’t get far enough each time it tries to correct itself to really erase the source of the program’s failure. It’s being blocked. And that shouldn't be possible with anything more complicated than a fire-lighter one uses by hand. Servo bots have safety systems built-in, for exactly the reasons these parents are afraid of! What it does now the thark never should be able to do. If it would, then it should deactivate-which it does. That far the precaution programs are working.  
I cannot conceive of any failure sequence induced by chance that would produce such a result.”

“Meaning?” Sukkar asked, frowning.

“Meaning”, Cunor took a deep breath and held up his open hands, “that failure has come about on someone’s purpose. Someone has put in that bug deliberately; I don’t know why or how or what, I’ll try to find out. But there might be some risk involved. If this is more than just an annoying prank the thark might watch for a line we shouldn’t cross, examining it. It hasn’t got weapons built-in, but with the strength it has it could as easily kill if it has such actions programmed in now. First precaution says we’d have to put it in a tangle field keeping it immobile no matter what. Second one is, we scan ceaselessly on the finest run to notice any energetic activity within that thing. Third is, we do not work hands-on but with tractor beams fine-tuned while a container goth zhym tar is active, keeping in and saving us from any explosion. That thing might be a bomb ready to go off walking around in plain sight. Who are the adults of that household, and what kinds of jobs do they have? Are there visitors who regularly come to that house this thing might be waiting for? Any household with children in it automatically is deemed safe and a place to feel comfortable in, on the emotional level. At least it is so for our arkonoid kinds. This is where a trap waiting for someone would make the best sense.”

The young mehandor had given his opinions clearly, endorsing them sparsely but with expressive short gestures. Jheley and Arim only stared with eyes wide, incredulous. But Sukkar had gone quite pale and now stood with lips compressed. “Entirely possible”, he grated out after a pause. There were sick horror and true anger in his light-red eyes.

“Come on, Sukkar”, Jheley said, trying to make a joke of this. “Such things do not happen in everyday real life but only in those dramatic vid series! I mean, in a normal family with three kids-“ he faltered and stopped, in mounting worry watching his colleague’s face.

“This isn’t as absurd as it sounds?” He asked in a smaller voice.

“No.” Sukkar’s face looked even grimmer than normal. “Cunor’s damn right. Could be the thing goes up in truth with us tinkering away unsuspecting. Could be we’d be history if we got as far as uncovering the real bug of that thing. God’s, I’ve been fiddling around with it for two pragos now-“ The tall mechanic wiped away the sweat appearing on his brow.

Arim and Jheley had gone white now no less.  
“Gods gracious, Cunor”, Arim softly said, his gaze clinging widely upon his young colleague’s face. “You’re coming up with such ideas so-matter-of-factly, so methodically-Gods, what have you been taught and been living through, up-above on that ship of yours? That you come up with such things all routinely and even think of them? Gods, I never caught on how dangerous living on a ship must be-“

“In a shader merchanter’s ship, perhaps, a bit more frequently than it happens regularly”, Sera Krenna put in, who had come up frowning fiercely, apparently having heard. Or had Sukkar pinged her unobtrusively the moment he smelled danger? The second seemed to be the case, here.

“Sukkar, you think what Cunor warns of a real probability?” the shop’s boss asked, sharply and shortly. 

“Aye.” The tall mechanic turned his wrist. “You know, sera, that I’ve seen some gruesome things up station, now and then. It’s why I came downside again no matter the pay was so much better upabove. What Cunor speaks of, I’ve heard of and even seen, on the station and on the ferry ships going and coming from the planet or from ships docking far out. When I was on-station the Corgon had a gang-war going on, on and off, with other zarak’ wenadorani, and then you know you’ll go for cover the moment you hear anything, and if you can, before that.  
Happens you open the hatch of a freighter that won’t respond and the corpses fall out into your face, or you can just seal your helmet with decomp alarm sounding on deck, and then you’re being swept away with the air hissing out through a hole somewhere after a big bang. Happens you grab hold desperately somewhere and cling for your life and see people whirling by who haven’t closed their helmets in time or haven’t thought of wearing a suit out on main dock, one a friend of yours whose face you see being ripped to pieces by air pressure going just as he still seems to scream for help. This was when I decided to quit, though I had to stay on for the contract’s sake for another five Tai-Votani, when we felt like under a siege, for a time. Sera, you don’t know how happy I am working here, for you, even if this is the port district and we have to have stunner guns at the ready behind the desk. But fact is, the Corgon’s down here first, and one can’t escape a scuffle now and then, it seems. Might be just such a scuffle waiting behind the Bench, here. “

Sera Krenna and her two younger employees swallowed, almost in unison. Then the elder woman looked at her youngest mechanic, long and hard.

“You’ve trained for such things, haven’t you, Cunor?” she slowly asked.

The young prince inclined his head reluctantly. He could figure out that his boss now would feel uneasy and endangered, with him in her shop. That was what came from Running Rooms, was what. Gods, if she’d throw him out now for this-

But the Makarsan lady reacted differently from what he was expecting.

“Good for you, mehandor lad, good for you. And good for us too, obviously. Damn it to deepest Ereinnye, I knew pretty turbulent times when I was younger in this district, when some gangs fought for their territory after some balances had come askew with one and then two of the leaders going down. And it’s happening again, it seems. There’s a man on the rise in the area called Tscheketh, and he’s on fast-forward, one hears. He seems to have done in one of his rivals already and is looking for the next throat he might be able to go for, and whenever such things happen the Corgon isn’t far and ready to meddle, looking for its share and some more influence it can get in. Corgon’s behind most of what goes on anyway, especially here at the port. Men, we’ll have to be extra cautious from now on. Security’s going to be first, and double of it. Hear me? If we lose one order or the other for that, it’s bad but better than we get blown up. Because then we won’t be getting any profit for ourselves out of our work at all, anymore.”

“Yes, sera!” her employees intoned, one after the other. The young merchanter looked very relieved, for a few moments, and his boss could think of why. He must not have been sure of his further welcome in a lawful society, with knowledge and a routine coming from living as a shader. Police had identified the youth even as a kath’zarakh’, a shader blade, and the knowledge the youth revealed now was fitting that aspect like a spacer’s glove did his hand. But lawful, really lawful, the society at the port was not. Or rather-law was what could be enforced, by police or the gangs, the KOLLOSS and the Tato ordering it having the last say, and seldom their rules went according to the general law of the Tai Ark’ Tussan.

“Now. Cunor, can you set this repair-work up safe, or would it be advisable that we call the zhyrtelori right away and keep our fingers off that thark? Are you just cautious and suspicious for safety’s sake, or do you smell a bekkar in the duct?”

Atlan cocked his head, considering, and crossed his arms. He was being asked in full earnest, and his experience and his knowledge were being appreciated, no matter he was so young. It felt surprisingly gratifying to be taken for an adult, here; and neither did it feel as awkward anymore, or unfitting. It was an acknowledgment of what he had become, of who and what he was right now, no matter who-and what-he had been before, at home. He was taken for an older person than he was, of course. But neither was he incapable or unable to fill that role. His education had been good enough, and extensive enough, to cover for this new role of a youth almost fourteen or older, and his personal experience-was living up to it fast also. 

“If this was one of the training exercises uncle Deni-or Keno-used to put me through, I wouldn’t just smell a brekkar. I would see its tail just vanishing round the bend. It’s almost a-a classic case, I’d say.”

The eyes of the listeners were acquiring a fascinated glitter.

“How so?” The shop owner asked, telling her youngest employee with a short gesture to go on.

“Well, sera-for me it’s crystal clear that the robot has been tampered with on purpose. As I have said before, the machine recognizes its malfunction, stops working, tries to self-repair and fails at that, reboots and goes back to the save-point, and reactivates. If it cannot self-repair successfully it should stay shut down and only announce its malfunction. Which it doesn’t. Half the time it acts as if it thought the repair and reboot were successful, and the other half it acts totally confusedly.  
Now, provided that the malfunction was caused deliberately by someone, such a kind of behaviour of this servo-bot does not seem consistent with any logically supposed plan of any attacker. Even if the only purpose to be achieved were a nasty prank to annoy or frighten the family, which doesn’t seem to be the case either. For, what has logically followed once the machine was behaving too oddly and potentially dangerously to the family? It has been removed from the house and brought to us for repairs. Anyone wanting to scare the owners would not see his aim fulfilled if the object of worry is removed too soon.  
In case the ploy served is more sinister, the matter seems even more tending against the original purpose. If the thark is meant to do eventual harm or represents a trap waiting, it should under any circumstance have been kept in the house. To achieve that, it would have had to act normally, not showing any trace of any alteration of programs till the time and place for it to act comes. In this, the potential perpetrators of a plot have spectacularly failed to achieve their aim.”

Sukkar listened with fascination. Cunor was almost lecturing them now, shortly gesturing to enhance his words. His manner of speech had changed also. He sounded less like a mehandor of the shader kind than a scientifically educated youth of an upper-class level of society. If one took away his merchanter clothes and the braid and put the boy into the uniform of an academic studying at one of the great Institutes, he would have fit right in with such a crowd one saw on vid from time to time, at Iprasa or Largamenia. He also, very suddenly, had the bearing of a lecturer explaining his thesis. That mehandor captain had taken every pain to give his only son a very thorough education, one saw that, and he could not have been sparing with his money either. Perhaps this was why he had had his son trained to speak upper-class as well. The ones going to the famous schools and universities and Faehrls often were wealthy people and nobles and would have despised a drawling merchanter boy. 

“So we can assume, I believe, that this odd behaviour of the thark was not the intended outcome of the tampering. What, then, has supposedly gone wrong, and why?”

Cunor turned to the motionlessly standing robot and turned his open hand towards it.

“This is an expensive and versatile model of good quality. But it is not the latest on the market of its kind, nor is it the latest of its own model series. By now it is outdated for at least twenty Tai-Votani, compared to what is being sold at Lepso, or at Archetz, where the model is outdated even longer. Someone who can afford to pay for such a machine should financially be able to throw it away and buy a new one. Theoretically, and anyone in Titon upon Archetz or Orbana upon Lepso, who had the money would do so. But we are not upon Archetz or Lepso. We are upon Tela-vhelor, and here people are neither so rich nor have they so much influx of the newest merchandise that they would not appreciate what they have, and rather have it repaired and upgraded than they would throw away a perfectly well-functioning thark only to buy something new one cannot easily get the spare parts for here, as yet.  
Which fact points to an off-worlder as the perpetrator of this supposed criminal attack, not anyone from this planet who should know about these details of the buying behaviour of the local residents. A man or woman from the Corgon would know to use programs as old and outdated to manipulate such a machine. They would have been compatible, and the robot would not have shown any odd behaviour until it was too late. This one, however, shows the typical signs of an update not having worked, only having been partway implemented and only partly having been integrated. If a robot knows that it has a bug the bug has not worked, has it? If the new program has been fully integrated, there should not be any reboot necessary but the one first time, shouldn’t it? And neither could there exist two programs interfacing and contradicting each other, giving confusing orders to the machine and making it act illogically. We could prove all of that perfectly if we got as far as analyzing the data storage of the robot. But exactly that should be hindered by a spring-trap, I bet. The thark should go off in the face of the one taking it apart, destroying any proof as to the tampering, and taking the unwary analyst with it. So, and considering that off-worlders are involved, and therefore most likely dangerous organizations from the farther Empire, with ties going nobody knows where we should keep our hands off this thing. Completely. Tell the customer that we cannot unravel the problem; perhaps even tell him or her of our suspicions and the cautions we see. But get that thing off our premises. We’ll lose the money, but we’ll keep our lives and won’t get involved any further. With the Corgon you seem to know where you are. With off-worlders, perhaps I might if I knew who they are. But I don’t, and I’d best keep my head down and my hands clean, as much is true with my father’s occupation and his past. As different from him as I am, and as unable as I am to follow in his steps now, as likely anyone knowing about him is to believe the worst of me nevertheless. So, conclusion: hands-off, call the customer, and if necessary, police. Best it would be if the customer got back the thing, put it somewhere harmless in the open in a public area, perhaps a park with no-one around, and called the zhyrtelori him-or herself. Tell the customer I’d recommend such a course of action.”

“That sure you are that this is no harmless malfunction we can fix?” Sera Krenna asked.

“Yes.” Cunor’s voice was dead serious, and so was his mien. He looked back firmly into the eyes of his boss, and the shop owner inclined her head.

“Hands off it is”, she said decisively. “I’ll make that call right away.” She went to her office, and they heard her talk softly a khela later.

Meanwhile, everyone stared at the motionless machine, with more or less horror upon their faces. It was a measure of how far the people of sera Krenna, and the shop owner herself, had come to trust him, Atlan thought, in so short a time. Of course, his actions saving his new work-mates’ asses the prago before had contributed to that, and so must have the assessment of that zhyrtelor orbton Jaskhor of him, estimating his age higher with the khela. And neither, surprisingly, had been the revelation to his detriment that he knew how to fight, and had a zarak-tho’s past and background. With every further shade being revealed-literally-the respect and regard his work-mates had for him seemed to rise, instead of the opposite. So much for law-abiding people here upon the world of teelya toorya. As to the less law-abiding ones-Gods, he never could have imagined how things could be, upon a colonial world. He had imagined such worlds to be colourful holiday resorts, sort of, when he had been younger. With a lot of uncharted areas, where mysteries lurked and riches could be found, where adventures waited for the prospector and the scientist, the lure of new worlds and new kinds of peoples drawing the most interesting personalities, people as colourful as the new worlds they came to discover.

Instead-but he had work to do and should stop musing about idle matters. Sukkar visibly pulled himself together, tried to ignore the so harmless-looking and still so menacing machine, and pulled out another problem for the young tronic’ wizard who soon was diligently tapping away at his pad, murmuring to the voice input the while as well, reading the screen simultaneously with the holo projected and slowly turning before him, and all of that apparently oblivious of his surroundings.

It did take barely half a tonta for a flustered couple to arrive, a well-dressed quite becoming lady adorned tastefully with a few pieces of jewelry of very good quality, and a hard-faced and hard-eyed businessman wearing an elegant business suit-and-cape combination with high boots, reminiscent of the military as it was fashionable right now all over the Empire in these times of war. He even wore his gleaming white hair straight and simple and almost as long as a noble would, just the necessary bit shorter that kept him from being an impostor. But this man was no foppish fashion puppet, as much was clear. His gaze raked over the shop’s employees and rested just a bit longer on the youth bent over his pad, then he turned on his heel and strode into sera Krenna’s office where his voice could be heard, hard and cool and clipped as if he were using battle language on board a warship. The shop owner was answering the customer politely and at length, apparently taking the time to explain as he was demanding. Perhaps that was the best course of all. The while the woman stood as near to the wall as she could, away from her former serving bot, and stared at it with eyes wide and frightened, her hands clasped in front of her and working nervously. It seemed that Cunor’s surmises had been spot-on, and looked to be very probable to the owners of the thark. They should know if anyone did.

Then sera Krenna appeared with the businessman, who strode up as purposefully as before and gave a few orders to a com, which let two tall and heavy guarding models of a just barely civilian type of robot march into the premises. They took up the servobot and carried it out between them, three figures of metal vanishing down the street at quite a swift pace.

“If your warning holds true I’ll pay your fee fully and over, sera Marneen”, the businessman said, his red eyes glittering dangerously as he turned back to her with a precise movement.  
“As to your employee who found out-“ the man’s eyes raked over the four mechanics again and came to rest upon the figure of the youth who had looked up now and risen, giving a little polite bow.

“You seem to be the kind of man who would have quite a good nose to sniff out a bekkar’s trail, mehan’tho. I’ll remember you and that trait of yours. If necessary I may consult you with a big fee attached, if you agree. Till then you’d best forget you ever heard of this affair or had any ideas about my wife’s thark.”

Atlan gave another polite little bow.  
“Ser, since I do not know you there is nothing I could remember or know at all, and since I never laid a finger or a solder upon your lady’s thark there is nothing I could think or know about that machine either. What I never knew of I need not even forget about.”

At that, the man smiled thinly and inclined his head a little, and then he was gone with another precise turn, his cape swirling behind him as he took his wife’s arm and had her leave with him.

The shop owner exhaled strongly and simply nodded to her men.  
“He wasn’t surprised. If he showed any emotion at all it was suppressed rage at his family being threatened. Who, and what he is-besides a name on an elegant business card-I do not know, and neither would I wish to.”

Her gaze went to the young mehandor. “Cunor, you’ll know what you’ll do. Or what you choose not to. But it might be unwise to deny this man if ever he wants your advice on something. He lives uptown in a district that speaks of heavy money and good connections. That he came to this shop at the port to have his thark checked simply says that he didn’t wish it known in his own neighbourhood that he might have a problem. He seems to trust in our discretion; so do not disappoint him, please, anyone of you.”

“No, sera”, the men answered in unison, and not even cheeky Jheley commented in any way after. These things were taken seriously here in the port district, it seemed, and were nothing to joke about. No-one commented about the fact either that the businessman had addressed their young friend as a mehan tho, like an adult, and had called him a man with a good nose, and not a lad. Within a single prago, it seemed to have become accepted that the young mehandor was in fact a young man and not a kid at all as he looked like at first glance, and no-one seemed to question the matter anymore.

“You’ll like this”, Rhonn said with a wide grin and pushed a stick with grilled fish, dripping with orange sauce, into the hand of his mehandor friend.  
It was a measure of how well he had adapted and had become less squeamish, Atlan thought fleetingly, that he would accept this kind of food now, and even managed to enjoy the taste. Too well he still remembered how revolting food like this, presented without any cover under the open sky, had looked to him when he had seen it first. Now, within a few pragos, hunger had taught him to eat when food could be had, and as to perfect cleanliness-that kind of foppery he had had to throw behind him, faced with stark reality here and now. Cunor Lant’cer had other, and more pressing worries to deal with than dust sticking to food that tasted quite delicious, actually.

The lady at the street stall smiled at them and waved as they went. The people of this district were a close-knit community and had no problem with including gang youngsters in their midst. In fact, it was them, and others as able to fight, who kept the order and contributed to general safety in the area, the young leader of the wenadoran explained. As long as they did not steal from their own, or would harm innocent bystanders in their gang brawls, they were welcome and even well appreciated. Few of the people living here did not have sticky fingers somehow where the official law was concerned. Be it fraud, or petty theft, or something else-most people here turned a blind eye to their fellow Arkonath’s faults as long as it did not concern them and trusted that their own dark spots would be as generously overlooked by their neighbours.

“Fish isn’t anything too dear here upon this planet”, Rhonn said contentedly, munching away at his own stick, and obviously proud of his home-world. Where he had a point, actually. Arkonath culture very much was into seafood delicacies and could not breed enough to satisfy the demand. Dearest, of course, was true wild-catch like a coelantherid of Travnor, a delicacy served at the Crystal Palace, for instance. This here was culture raised fish, genetically adapted for the planet of Tela-vhelor, different from what was native in the ocean. The world named “time of plenty” had only jellyfish and such-like maritime life in plenty, and most of those were poisonous. Some harmless kinds of jellyfish were grown in sea-farms and caught to be dried, and eaten as a kind of tasty meal to flavour dishes, Rhonn had explained, but else there was little wild fishing going on upon this planet.  
On the other hand, crabs and mussels and their kinds simply were not to be had, here, and interested no-one, because they were harder to raise than the fish in ponds and needed true seawater, which was not adaptable to what true Arkonath maritime creatures needed. 

Some people the young Crystal Prince knew, he believed, would not have found such circumstances acceptable or tolerable at all. But Cunor Lant’cer, who had to be content with food to be had cheaply, and had learned to know hunger, could not care less when he was confronted with other problems.

Round the corner conditions changed somewhat. Where it had been a small shopping district they had passed through before, it swiftly became one of entertainment now. This was the port district alright, though neither the seediest nor the most magnificent part. Accordingly, there were no drug addicts and totally down-boozed individuals lying on the pavement or leaning against the walls of buildings, but that more than one person here, standing around with friends and leaning somewhere, was in some way what one called upgraded was clear.

The young leader of the wenadoran followed the gaze of his new friend and grinned.  
“There’ll be more of those, and in worse states of being dazed and boozed, by evening”, he said cheerfully and wended his way through the maze of small lanes and courtyards opening in front of them. The sharp looks he threw everywhere and the point he made to check out a lot of unexpected nooks and crannies also were both noticed by the people they met and acknowledged by friendly nods or wary glances. In this vicinity, there also were more foreigners and non-Arkonoid people passing. Atlan even saw an Andooz leisurely waddle by, not bothering to hop or properly spring, wearing nothing but a broad belt around his slick amphibian body and a narrow neckband where from hidden orifices water was being sprayed onto his skin occasionally. The water-tank rested snugly on the broad back, while from the wide mouth a long tongue darted from time to time, filching insectoid snacks out of a bag the stranger carried with him.

Andooz were great analysts and could see patterns and connections where an Arkonath mind still was boggled. In this, they managed to duplicate and even surpass Maahkath thinking, and so the people from the sixth planet of the solar system of Andan Kruul had become very much valued new citizens of the Tai Ark’Tussan and were found in advising positions to high-ranking fleet commanders. What, by the She’Huan, was an Andooz doing here in the backwater of the Debara Hamtar?

“You know the kind, Cunor?” Rhonn asked with interest, throwing the young mehandor a look from the side. He had caught his new friend’s quick frown.

“Te, sav. Yes, I do-and I wonder what an analyst is doing here who would find employ in best-paid posts in the fleet or with great business companies.”

The young leader’s white eyebrows rose, and he grinned sharply. “Seems you know them the straight way only, merchanter mate”, he replied. “But criminal organizations can use their talents no less. Though-in that I concur. What does an Andooz do here in our district who would be employed rather only by an interstellar organization?”

Now Rhonn frowned too. Their gazes met.

“Tscheketh”, the young prince said shortly. “That business with majat and their drugs.” 

The tall Makarsan simply pushed the call button upon his com and wordlessly made the sign of danger, Chan-sor, thumb and small finger stretched out while the three middle fingers were tucked in.

“An Andooz is no great fighter personally and bodily”, Rhonn said, slightly ducking and turning into a club’s doorway to get some cover, gesturing the young mehandor to his side. 

“He’ll be great to analyze the terrain and a situation. But he won’t be the one starting to shoot if he can help it. Tscheketh’s men must be near. Our guys are on their way.” Softly he added:” That’s just what was to be expected. Damn.”

Atlan took a deep breath and held it, and slowly breathed out, going into Dagor level one, getting calm and concentrated, listening with all his senses. They would be five or six, Rhonn and him, Selaron and Enteko and Aday, and perhaps also Jhaftokan. Tirako and Irjona were pretty young to face up to a hit-squad in a real gang-war, were they not? Even more so that went for Selko and Selyke, Peyko, and Neeol. The other four were true waifs, kids who should have been in basic schooling.  
And then, of course, there was Karena, who had been overpowered when Tscheketh’s men went for her two pragos ago, but who was an accomplished and well-versed thief else apart from being a famkarthona, and who must know quite a line dangling with tricks of how to deal with opponents and obstacles of the more stubborn and opposing kind. She had been surprised and overpowered, before. Now, she would come prepared and ready to put in her fighting power. They would be six at least.

The street suddenly seemed to have emptied. No person, Arkonoid or otherwise, could be seen where only a few khelas before lively traffic had passed. Rhonn had a small gun out and was moving it to a general aiming position. As yet the beamer was set to shock, good. The young prince had no weapon but his vibro knife.

“Karena’ll be bringing you a shocker too”, the gang-leader said with a very calm voice. “We won’t hurt or kill before we aren’t attacked in ways that are truly endangering us. Street brawling is one thing if the ones involved get up unharmed or only have to go to the emergency room of the hospital for but one short treatment, and will likely be ignored by police. But we won’t be left to brawling if serious injuries or even deaths happen. Then it’s full consequences, and if it’s only the members of other gangs that get hurt Morenth will be able to bail us out within three pragos at the latest, and he can be counted upon to do so. We’ll have acted on his behalf and in his interest, defending his territory. But innocent bystanders must not be hurt under any circumstances, Cunor, got that? We’re the good guys here to the inhabitants of our district who get molested by Tscheketh’s people, and whom we protect them against. They’ll vouch for us and support us in our turn. But that could change the moment we do harm to them-and if our neighbours turn against us, we really are out-gunned.”

Atlan inclined his head and tried to see any of their potential opponents. But the street was still empty-  
Not really. Down several blocks in the shadow and the cover of a corner squatted the Andooz and was scrutinizing the scene keenly, it seemed.

“We’re being watched. And analyzed”, the young mehandor stated coldly. “Which means, an off-worlder organization wants to know what is going on-and it isn’t just asking Tscheketh and trusts his word but sends an observer and analyst. Interesting.”

“Yes.” Rhonn grimaced as he watched the street out of narrowed eyes. “Looks like the hints you left and the discord you have tried to sow are already bringing in some fruit.”

“Nothing’s happening”, Cunor murmured. But the inhabitants of the area did not venture out of the houses they had disappeared into, either.

“Yet”, his boss replied. “That Andooz would not be watching if there wasn’t anything of interest to expect. He must know that Tscheketh is going to go at us. Or at least his men are. Whether that bekkar out of a slimy duct will deign to appear himself is doubtful, in my mind.”

For another two khelas they waited, tensed up behind their flimsy cover. Then up the street a single individual strolled, legs apart in a rolling gait, with a flamboyant bearing and visibly stinking.

“Isn’t that the seedy fellow who’s issued a formal challenge on Tscheketh’s behalf”, the young mehandor softly said, his eyes turning a shade of lighter red. Rhonn snapped his fingers appreciatively. Cunor’s stance had changed from reservedly cautious to aggressively careful if one could dub his posture so.  
The man coming up was no stranger to the gang-leader.

“Name’s Isshko, and he’s a real sarpa-theyath, a snake-headed one, conniving and malicious and back-stabbing-walking a crooked road in truth. That one is all façade and a knife behind it waiting for to strike.”

“I know. That was exactly the method he tried to use against me when he issued a challenge to me on the train.”

The young mehandor’s voice was as calm and cool as the one of his boss. Now Cunor threw Rhonn a look from the side.

“That one’s challenge and provocation personified, meant to draw us. Take the invitation or leave it?”

The gang-leader had a look at his com.  
“Our guys will be here within a few khelas”, he stated. “We’ll take it to buy time with some banter before any brawl starts.” Purposefully he began to move, but the merchanter youth laid a swift hand upon his arm.

“Wait, Rhonn. That one’s mine.”

The tall and muscular Makarsan lifted a gleaming white brow. “Why, because he challenged you before?”

“Yes.” Cunor smiled coldly and sharply. “He got his challenge answered, for himself. But now he comes up again and must know that it is me whom he is facing. Again. Seems the gradschep has not had enough, the last time. I’ll teach him, and hand Tscheketh my measure for good. That might save me some further encounters on the matter, later, when they know what they must expect if they wish to go at me.”

Agreeing Rhonn inclined his head and stepped back once more. That argument he understood, and it might be for the best if Cunor demonstrated his fighting potential right at the start; neither was the scenario too dire for a youth untried in street-brawls. This could not be full gang-war fought for blood and to the death, or that Isshko would not have come up openly. Otherwise, a lethal shoot-out would have started before, done at a stealthy night-raid, for example, the way Kolyan had been attacked. Tscheketh wanted something else, this time.

Determinedly Atlan stepped out, facing Tscheketh’s seedy pakka-tho and blocking his way, standing with knees flexed in Dagor basic stance, ready to react to any attack. His main reason for taking up the challenge of this Isshko now was of course not the one he had handed to Rhonn, right now, though that one counted in as well.  
There was an off-worlder watching and analyzing, judging what he saw. That Andooz; he might very well be connected to the ones who had murdered Lesena and Kelta and the Tondon’s crew, and who had abducted him because that ship still stood in port and was allied with Tela-vhelor’s government, which controlled the KOLLOSS. They very well could be involved in the exclusive drug trade here; which might be a reason why they might be interested in one Tscheketh they might have handed those majat ampoules to. That the drug dealer could not have afforded to buy such stuff on the shader market and had to have been supplied by a new group from the farther Empire was certain. No matter which, or if all these surmises applied to this Andooz and the ones behind him, they were not there to help Tscheketh outright but were watching, and analyzing. Proof of that a person like this Andooz. Had they planned to involve themselves farther it would not have been such a kind of person who was sent.

And that the one was not only there to analyze the mess one Tscheketh made of his relations but also to look for one Atlan tec’ Gonozal, Crystal Prince of the Empire, who was aged almost twelve and had escaped down here to exactly this spot on this planet’s surface, to a city named Makarsa, was very likely. If he now kept in hiding and cowered down behind the backs of the other wenadorani he was very much in character with a twelve-year-old out of his depth, still in shock, desperate, and being hunted. He had proven that he could fight and fly a small ship during his escape, and that he was a Dagor hertaso was official knowledge in the Tai Ark’ Tussan. But that he had been receiving Golamo training for years and had been Running Rooms since the age of eight should not be known commonly, as it was not even known to anyone not of his family or highest Service circles in the Gos’Teaultokan; neither should anyone be able to calculate the change in himself as it was new to him as well. Taking up the role and life of Cunor Lant’cer, and identifying so closely with that personality, was nothing anyone could have expected of the young Gos athor da Arkon. And then, Atlan tec Gonozal, leaving Gos Ranton, had been a child. Cunor Lant’cer undeniably was an adult, and that was not a sham taken up with a role one was playing. It was a fact, the consequence of the experiences he had gone through lately.  
If he acted pointedly as Cunor now, like the pakka-tho who had given his word to his leader and who therefore must step out first to another envoy, acting aggressively and speaking rudely, he would not be within the search profile for the Gos athor the Andooz might be looking for and applying. 

“Hey, gradschep. Have you drunk deeper this time?” Atlan called out, hands upon hips, in a jeering tone and a bit of his mehandor drawl put in. “Visibly stinking you still are. Seems the shower I gave you last time has worn off quickly. Want me to give you a better rub-off now?”

Rhonn wanted some verbal banter to buy time. That was very convenient also to show off as Cunor Lant’cer. Luckily the man took up the challenge and stopped at a still safe distance, grinning evilly and making a rude gesture. 

“Crawl back into your slimy duct, mangy brekkar. Do you think a mehan’ skhe’ like you can really overcome a staunch planet-dweller, skinny waif that you are on your protracted growth?”

The young prince made an even ruder gesture right back, one that was originally mehandor and known up and down the Debara Hamtar.

“You’re but junk I couldn’t sell even at the clearance sales. At least here on a planet, there’ll be some sand for you to get lost in. Parth’fan, why don’t you!”

The intruder into Rhonn’s territory spat on the ground, into the young mehandor’s direction, and opened his arms wide.  
“I won’t do your work for you, slime-bekkar. Come on, make me go, show me that you can!”

Atlan laughed loudly and derisively and crossed his arms. “Ae yaeh, now you don’t dare to come on yourself, after the lesson I taught you in the train. You are nothing but mouth and pretense, and, of course, stink, parang perkharno. With an aposzdazar in your hand, you felt all jolly, didn’t you? Come on, I’ll dare you to a hukkas. I bet you won’t dare fight me with your bare hands and no weapon at all, skinny waif that I might be facing a puffed-up perkharno!”

“Bet taken, and the hukkas too, slime spacer bekkar. You’ll be so sorry you have ventured down-planet.” The evil grin was wider and sharper, now, and without any further warning the man suddenly came up on a run, almost too swiftly for the young prince to change his stance back to Dagor basic and receive the attack well-balanced out.  
Lithely he evaded the oncoming bully and smoothly turned the striking fists aside to pass him harmlessly. But the sheer impact of strong hit combined with the speed of oncoming movement was jarring nevertheless, and Atlan staggered back involuntarily. In the cramped space in the train wagon, the man had not been able to bring up that much momentum. That was different here. 

Jumping back to gain more room he just was able to evade a second time as the brawler turned surprisingly quickly and almost landed both a kick and a punch that would have cracked the youth’s jaw had it connected. The stink the man exuded was breath-taking, at close range. Possibly Isshko was using it as an additional weapon to distract his opponents, the young prince thought fleetingly as he threw a somersault backward to get some space again. For all his bulky power the man was moving surprisingly swiftly and was well centered. He had to disable his legs first. That might mean breaking one, but with the danger the man posed and the way he struck that was neither luxury nor mean conduct. He was defending himself and could prove it with the body-cam having been activated the moment he stepped out.

Isshko was coming on once again, grinning widely, showing dirtied teeth with two of them missing, and yelled some more abuse at his light-weighted opponent who jumped to and fro, making it hard to follow up.

Good. Tscheketh’s man was slightly off-balance, having had to change direction several times. Now.

Atlan whirled round and charged the man, using his momentum to kick himself up against his adversary and getting in a good knee-bowler into the man’s stomach, while he ducked himself in and hit Isshko’s chin with his brow. The man’s arms and fists he could deflect with his own hands.

It was like running against a tree. The man was awfully solid, and the rank smell of his body was nauseating. But since the street-fighter was staggering back now, cursing and folding in with the hit the youth had landed at his middle, the young prince managed to disengage, jump off and kick the falling man’s right shin twice with a left-right combination of his own.

The splintering sound was unmistakable, and the painful scream of the bully was as revealing. Still, he tried to grab for his youthful opponent and even succeeded, catching Atlan’s jacket and pulling him towards him, his right fist thundering against the youth’s shoulder. Only barely the young prince had been able to turn away his head. Had that punch connected with his temple, he’d been unconscious on the spot.

It hurt badly enough as it was. With a yell of pain, Atlan twisted his body aside and could rip the jacket out of Isshko’s hand with hammering both his interlaced fists upon the man’s nose. Something else splintered, and blood spattered into his face as the youth sprang up and away, gasping with pain himself while Tscheketh’s man howled once more and tried to go after him, rising to a knee and throwing out his arms to snag back his lithesome prey. Just by inches the young prince escaped the grasping fingers and threw himself backward, without elegance landing on his backside and having to scramble up and out of the man’s range in as undignified a way.

“Damn you, slimy spacer brat!” Isshko howled, blood streaming down his face, and whisked out a humming knife he threw, which landed a glancing hit even as Atlan evaded once more, desperately and hastily. The vibro-knife was spinning to the ground while blood began to run down his left arm. Ignoring the injury he snatched up the knife and faced his kneeling opponent, just in time.

Tscheketh’s man was not using a gun or a stunner, apparently he neither wished to risk the death of his opponent nor would he have been too considerate and used less dangerous means. What he came up with now was a tharikk, a sharp-edged throw-star he fired from a wire he suddenly drew out of his cuff. It grazed the young prince’s other arm and cut another gash into his jacket, and was deflected by the knife to spin off wildly but harmlessly into the shop-front besides the club. The shop-window’s plexiglass screeched and vibrated, but it held. In this neighbourhood shop-owners were prepared in case someone would try to burgle in by the window.

As the bully was fishing out another star Atlan threw back the knife to its owner and hit the right shoulder squarely. With a vibro-knife, this made a nasty and very painful wound. Shrieking Isshko pulled out the knife and shut it off, holding it in the left hand, which was visibly shaking for a moment.

“Be wise and stop before you get injured in more serious ways”, the young mehandor called to the panting man, brushing dust off his jacket and taking up a defensive stance again. Whatever Isshko would throw now he could easily evade, he hoped. The man’s arm ran with blood, which was dripping swiftly to the ground to already form a small puddle. A prago in the hospital the man would have to spend, and even with bones laced and bio-soldered together once more he would have to at least lie for three pragos in bed. 

Tscheketh’s bully spat out a mouthful of blood that had run in and cursed most awfully, using words Atlan never had heard as yet, and which he attentively listened to to be able to make use of them himself later on, in his role as a kath zarak. 

“Better call for your friends and have them escort you home. Or do you want me to call an ambulance?” Cunor Lant’cer asked in a cool and neutral voice.

“Neither. Gods, you’ll pay for this, slimy spacer brat!” the bully hissed, true hate in his eyes. Something about his glance at his young opponent made Atlan turn, just in time to face another threesome of strangers coming up on the double. He jumped back swiftly, past Isshko who with impressive stamina even lunged to catch his leg with the knife and only missed by inches, and came to stand against the front of the club where Rhonn was joining his young pakka-tho with a single stride. 

“Well-done, Cunor”, he said shortly but with shining eyes, and faced their attackers with a luykanth grin. 

“Come on, buddies, if you dare. Look at your pal to see an example of your own state if you would. You’re outnumbered, besides.”

That was true because now hurrying steps could be heard as the other elders of Rhonn’s wenadoran pelted out of a side-street at long last. They came up on the run, muscular Selaron in the lead, crafty Enteko, and lithe Aday following. And there was also Karena-beautiful as she was, and wearing the clothes of a famkarthona, sporting her ankles painted and her breasts half-visible, she did not look like anyone a man would like to cross at the moment. The shocker gun in her hand threatened.

But the other men also snapped up guns, and these were needlers, and potentially lethal. 

“Let’s stay calm, all around”, the man in the lead said sharply. “There need not be any injuries further, and most of all no death. We only want her.” He gestured at Karena. The white jacket he wore was spotless and rather elegant, not the garment a seedy street-gang brawler would wear.

Rhonn’s eyes widened, and his cheeks coloured astoundingly swiftly as he hissed a soft curse between his teeth. Karena’s face twisted, but she did not seem too surprised. What was it she possessed, and that Tscheketh wanted so badly? Which kind of information?

Cunor moved too quickly for anyone to be able to react. With a few bounds like a Kasha Cat’s, he had reached the girl and put himself in front of her, just leaving room enough for her to see and be able to aim and shoot.

“Forget about that, ser”, he said calmly and coldly. His voice had acquired that odd upper-class tone he got not only when he consciously played the role of a young noble, but also when he was stressed, the result of Tai-Votani of hard training his father had made him go through, letting him appear more daunting in times of danger, as Rhonn had realized and knew now.

“You cannot shoot her now. Shoot me or anyone of my friends, and Karena will shock you and your comrades, safe under my cover. You have none. Rest assured that you cannot kill all of us swiftly enough for not at least one or two of us to survive, apart from our gal. And the ones surviving will take up your guns and shoot you as you lie shocked. Simple as that.”

The elegantly dressed man in the fore blanched, and so did the two more burly ones wearing inconspicuous black worker suits. Apparently no-one doubted the calm and cool words of the young mehandor, and neither did Rhonn deny anything his new friend said. He only smiled coldly and faced Tscheketh’s men chin up, ready to throw himself to the ground and come up again with a roll the moment he saw a gun’s muzzle being trained at him.

“And then-“ Atlan’s voice still sounded calm and just conversational, “set to kill your guns would have those red rings blazing at the muzzle. Yours gleam blue.”

Without giving any other sign he suddenly went for the elegant man who had looked down in astonishment at his gun, only for a moment-but that was one moment too long. When he looked up the slim youth was already there, jumping up at him in a somersault, his foot kicking him hard at the chin and making him fall unconscious in the instant. Rolling across him Atlan grabbed the gun from the man’s fingers and hit the contact with his thumb, turning the needler to a lethal weapon in truth.

When he came up he saw Rhonn and Selaron rush past him at the third man who shot at them, but missed since he had two moving targets against him. The shots hissed at the ground farther off where they only blackened a bit of dust. The needler had been set to hurt and cause severe burns, but not to kill-not yet.

The second man yelled threats and triggered his gun too, and got Enteko above the knee, who fell with a sharp cry of pain. But Aday got to the zarak-tho from the side and grabbed his arm, making him unable to shoot on, fighting him for the gun, evading a punch and another, hanging on to that arm and making the man stagger. Then the brawler fell with a gasp as the report of a shocker shot sounded and he was hit squarely in the chest by Karena.

The third man was in no better state. Fighting two enraged youths even his burly stature was not to his advantage. Selaron punched him in the face, one and two times as the man’s fist just brushed Rhonn’s cheek and he went down as a kick of the young gang-leader hit his left knee, and then another one from Selaron got his right ankle.

Rhonn got off him with the fully activated needler pointing at the man’s head, and hissed:” Shoma’zayn, worthless bastard! I’ll show you how it feels to have a hole burnt through your body, or more than one! Why does Tscheketh want my gal? I warn you, tell me the truth, or you’ll learn how to dance to a needle’s stitches!”

“I-I don’t know!” the man stammered, his short white hair, cut like any worker’s, clinging to his brow with an outbreak of sudden sweat. The dark red eyes were wide with shock. “Damn, I sure don’t know! The boss said, get her, so we went to get her!”

Face contorted in true anger and his red eyes glittering with golden sparks, the young gang-leader stared at him, the gun live in his hand, pointing at the fellow. Then he pulled back a little with a deep breath and turned the muzzle away from the bully’s face. That the man knew nothing and could not tell him anything was too probable.

That was Rhonn’s luck. Had he still been threatening the brawler with a live gun to his face a few sartons later, the consequences he met would have been harsher.

The high whine of heavy gliders coming in and going down to land right in the street could be heard only now. It was too late to run and hide, it was too late even to manipulate the appearance of the situation with a posture changed or a weapon thrown down.

“Police! Weapons on the ground and hands behind your heads! On your knees, all of you!” a voice boomed from a speaker just as the shadows of the incoming gliders fell across the street and the glare of the flood-lights surpassed the light of day and lighted the shadows between the buildings.

With a curse, the gang-leader threw down the needler and was immediately followed by Karena. Cunor stared upward open-mouthed and did not react immediately, almost too slowly. The zhyrtelori weren’t known for their patience.

“Cunor! Comply! Now!” Rhonn yelled as he went to his knees and folded his hands behind his head. The others were down already. None of them was new to this game.

The young merchanter flinched and at last threw down the weapon he held, shutting it off first, which was something he shouldn’t have done either. Elegantly he sank to his knees, and was too slow to fold his hands behind his head as the voice thundered again:” Down! Hands up and folded! Now! You’ll get charged for resistance and disorder!”

Incredulous Atlan stared upward at the descending gliders and murmured: ”Are they joking? Resistance, because I was not down flat within the Sarton? They can’t be serious, it’s us who got attacked-“

“Shut up, merchanter mate!” his boss growled in warning. “You don’t say anything but yes or no, you don’t admit to anything, and we might get off lightly. Make trouble, be recalcitrant or talk back, and you’ll be stuck in jail for a berlon before they even deign to record your case! And they won’t treat you nicely in the meantime!”

“Can we call upon a lawyer?” Cunor still was a believer in proper law and order and hadn’t realized yet that he would not be considered due to any help.

“Morenth has got one if it becomes necessary. Now shut up, for Gods’sakes!”

The young mehandor shut up at long last, to Rhonn’s relief. The faint colouring of the spacer youth’s cheeks showed that he still did not realize that he had no rights and no say whatsoever in what was going to happen to him next, but that he was angered and annoyed. He hadn’t been caught at his data burgling and hadn’t been arrested by the zhyrtelori in action before in truth, the young gang-leader realized. Gods. Hopefully, Cunor was smart enough to follow instructions and wouldn’t try to throw a stunt now.

Atlan was still stunned that he was being arrested by police. Gods! He, the Gos athor da Arkon, arrested as a lowly criminal! It took him khelas to fully remember that he was Cunor Lant’cer and especially now, and here, must not give any indication that he was not who he said he was. The zhyrtelori here were allies of the worst criminals the Tai Ark’Tussan had ever seen, and fighting them, talking back, in truth was the dumbest course of action he could follow now. He had to do as Rhonn had said, stay head down and comply, and play an obedient citizen in awe of authority. 

The zhyrtelori were nine and had three bulky fighter models of gor tharkii to strengthen their ranks. Considering they met no resistance whatsoever this contingent seemed excessive. But on the other hand, if they had come when the brawl was still raging, their numbers would have been of good use.  
In the fore was a man the young prince remembered well, and who, by the contemptuous twitch of his lips, did the same. Police officer Jaskhor showed no surprise, which was not a compliment for the young mehandor.

Unceremoniously he took out a pair of handcuffs, had the youth take his hands down from his head to his back and cuffed him within a khela, and had him keep kneeling while he went over to Rhonn to repeat the action.

“And the old argument again, ser Kher’tavon, is it not? I find you with a lethal gun in your hand, threatening the lives of certain individuals, whom you and your pakka-thoi have met all by chance, and as much by chance, a dispute has started which, regrettably, has evolved into an active argument? Your report will be borne out by other witnesses who can testify to the same? Such as the nice young mehan’tho over there who all by chance has met you a few pragos ago and has come to know you, a happy chance of like coming to like?”

“Something like this, officer Jaskhor.” Rhonn kept his countenance and answered calmly and coolly. “I wish to place a complaint right away. The individuals you have seen me and my mehan’ pal threaten have assaulted us and tried to abduct sera Karena Sirsal, whom I and my friends live with. Our address has not changed, officer. The guns belonged to these men, who were sent by Tscheketh to make trouble for us. Cunor Lant’cer has but helped me to protect me and mine from dire attack and assault, and has fought almost all the time of the said argument with his bare hands and has but thrown back a knife that was thrown at him. He even sustained some injuries which will prove my testimony. At the beginning Cunor and Isshko-the man your men are just cuffing and heaving up, he has a broken leg-fought against each other singly. Cunor dared the man to a hukkas and was attacked on the spot. That Isshko has come to provoke us and has issued Tscheketh’s challenge to me! Only after that bout the other three showed up and went at us with their guns held out, and demanded that sera Sirsal be handed over to them. At that Cunor tried to protect her and went between.”

The zhyrtelor had an eyebrow up and had listened in spite of the commotion and the goings-on all around them. Now he even showed a faint smile.

“Looks like sera Sirsal’s allures have gone to the mehan’skhe’s head quite swiftly, haven’t they? And elsewhere? That was a gallant and dangerous move if it was true. I haven’t put such gallantry past the mehan’skhe’, before. We’ll hear the other side too, of course. I know that there I will hear that you and your wenadoran assaulted the poor innocent passers-by all unprovoked and with evil intent.”

“Officer, they are all Tscheketh’s men!”

“I know that, ser Kher’tavon. As I know you and your wenadoran to the last click. Only that mehan’skhe’ is new to the mix, and it seems he is already busily stirring the cup. I’ve warned him to lift a finger and come to my attention with so much of a sneeze. The next berlon or two he’ll get to know me and my men somewhat better, I reckon. Let’s see what he has to say, on this matter and others we’ve already started a conversation on. Perhaps you’ll get him back all meek and timid, though I wouldn’t put such a change of character past that mehan’skhe’ either.”

Biting his lip the young gang-leader glanced over to his new comrade who still knelt there, thanks-to-the-Gods now with an expressionless face. At least Cunor seemed to have caught on to proper proceedings, at last. Unfortunately, the situation between him and this officer of the zhyrtelori seemed to be worse than he had hoped it would be, and Cunor would be in for the special treatment nevertheless if he talked back now or not. Damn. They needed him, with Tscheketh threatening to move on them! He’d have to ask Morenth to bail his new pakka-tho out of jail and officer Jaskhor’s hands, as much seemed to be certain. At least stinking Isshko was arrested as well, and he needed special treatment of the medical kind. As to the three who had come up with the guns-

With surprise, Rhonn saw that these three, unconscious and not, were bundled as unceremoniously into the gliders as had been his wenadorani and as would be Cunor and him. Officer Jaskhor dragged him up himself and pushed him over to his partner Ketlar, who locked the young gang-leader into a seat next to Karena. She had her hands cuffed in her lap and seemed to have been treated a bit less roughly, while Rhonn had to sit uncomfortably with his arms behind his back, and no better was Cunor treated who got the so-called “Seat of honour” right behind the orbton’s seat. That boded ill for the young merchanter, innocent of any offense as he was. 

It looked like Cunor had adjusted to the situation. He was breathing deeply and regularly, apparently dealing with his discomfort and agitation by Dagor tricks, the best thing he could do. 

That Tscheketh’s men, at least the ones clad better, had not been exempt from the full treatment of arrest and were not only retained to testify was like a silent clash of thunder to the wenadorani, who exchanged glances across the prisoner’s seats. 

“The Andooz was leaving only now”, Cunor murmured in a low voice, staring ahead and not turning his head. Rhonn took a deep breath and held it before he slowly exhaled. With all he had been confronted with, that dammed bright and attentive mehan skhe’ had even kept that detail in his sight! And it was a detail of no little impact and meaning. 

“Looks like Tscheketh’s got his trouble with his offworlder supplier alright, just as you might have set him up for”, the gang-leader dared to murmur back while Aday covered the voice pickup with a staged and loud coughing fit.

Cunor’s fingers, behind his back and barely visible for Rhonn even if he leaned forward in his seat, showed the sign of Chan-sah for a moment. Possibly the bad situation that the drug dealer found himself in all of a sudden was the reason for his aggressive attack and second grab for Karena. He might try to better his lot which had deteriorated with her knowledge again, whatever that knowledge was about. That police would arrest his men as well was another sign that Tscheketh’s luck was running out. His Sponsors, who must have laid edict with the zhyrtelori, seemed to have retreated in truth. Wasn’t that a bit of interesting and very good news! Their raid two pragos ago on the Blue Sphere seemed to bear unexpected and rich fruit.

Prudently-and of necessity-the opponents of the fight sat facing each other quietly at the police station, only eyeing each other with anger or, in Isshko’s case, even with hate. Every one under arrest was tied down by his or her own tangle-field which was integrated into the seat. At least now everyone had been cuffed again with their hands in their lap after they had been given the full treatment of police identification. Rhonn and his wenadorani of long-standing had borne the process with long-suffering annoyance. For none of them, this was anything new.

Cunor, though, sat stiffly and was still very much tensed up, and his face had not regained its natural colour and appeared almost sickly white.  
When it had been his turn to be examined and his data to be recorded, his measures, fingerprints, retina scans et al to be taken, the young mehandor seemed to have been near to balking for a few moments. He had blanched utterly and almost looked frightened. The gang-leader could imagine why. According to what little their new friend had told about himself and his family and his past, he never had gone on record anywhere, and his personal data had been kept secret from any official and governmental institutions.  
Now, however, he was on a police record and no longer a secret citizen, and his data was on file with official authorities. If ever he’d get caught again later the young mehandor could be traced to these origins and perhaps farther back if he could be forced to name the ship he had arrived with.

They all had been treated surprisingly decently as well, while Tscheketh’s pakka-thoi had not been dealt with any better or differently. Now they all waited to be questioned and to be processed into remand prison, or to be set free this prago or the next.  
For Cunor that prospect was a bleak one. Officer Jaskhor had already made clear that no matter what the first interview with the young mehandor would produce he would be kept in arrest for a berlon or two, to teach him about daring to involve himself in trouble. That he and his wenadoran had reportedly been the ones accosted didn’t count for the zhyrtelor orbton.

The leader of Tscheketh’s bunch, the well-clad fellow, already had had his say and had come back looking down his nose at the youthful wenadorani, apparently expecting to be let go immediately. Instead, his cuffs had not been removed, and he had had to take his seat again, having to wait for the final verdict, which might be some time coming with several persons still to be questioned. Rhonn and Karena had been called after and had had their fair chance to describe the events from their point of view. Both Jaskhor and Aichot were acquaintances of long years standing and did not have to be informed about the circumstances of living or the biographies of their detainees-or the trouble in the district arising from the ambitions of one Tscheketh, entrepreneur and drug-dealer on a large scale with friends in high places.

Logically Rhonn Kher’tavon’s new pakka-tho was next. Zhyrtelor officer Jaskhor came up to stand before the young mehandor. The boy looked up at him, quietly waiting to be addressed.

“When we took your scans I found this on-screen”, the police officer said and with a swift movement of his fingers pulled an odd object out of an inner pocket of the youth’s shirt. It appeared to be nothing but a slip of cloth which once had been red but now had turned a darkish brown with the many blots and spots it had been stained with.

“What is this?”

Cunor had made a swift movement to hinder the policeman but had been prevented by the tanglefield. Now his eyes glittered light red with what was more than anger-quiet rage suddenly burned in the eyes of the young mehandor.

“It’s a private matter, orbton”, he replied in a voice unexpectedly gone sharp and having acquired that upper-class tone, “and I’ll thank you to return it immediately to me!” 

Taken aback and surprised against his will the officer made a move to obey and checked himself only at the last moment.  
Trying to mask his astonishment he jeered:” Oh, I didn’t recognize you in time, zhdopan, Your exalted lordship! Please forgive me! What do you wish me to tolerate, apart from a mehan’skhe and a kath’ zarak trying to give orders to an orbton of the zhyrtelori of Makarsa? Does the revered zhdopan perhaps require being set free without being questioned and let do unmolested whatever criminal act he wishes to commit upon the surface of this planet?”

Atlan compressed his lips and forced himself to stay silent and not answer the vohjo. That emotional outburst of his had been a most dangerous and severe slip that could cost him his cover and his camouflage. If this blunder of his got reported up the lines to government, he was in for it and would be exposed to the criminal and corrupt Tato of this world, this Trento kel’ Tharú, and be helpless in his hands and those of his allies the murderers of Lesena and Kelta and everyone else on board the TONDON. With him, the Gos athor in the hands of his abductors again and the hostage game for them an option once more, the weal of the whole Tai Ark’ Tussan would be in jeopardy, and it would be solely his fault this time for being so careless and acting so uncontrolled. To his great luck, the zhyrtelor was taking his words for a sham and a mere try of a mehan’zarak at impressing police and did not take him seriously. The way he, the Gos athor da Arkon, was being treated by the zhyrtelori of this planet was of course an enormous insult and indignity par excellence, but it was in accordance with the role he was playing, that of Cunor Lant’cer, mehan’zarak and son of an obvious dealer in exclusive drugs, lately of the Lirela. Instead of feeling offended, he should be glad his pretensions were working and remember to stay to his role. Being Cunor and having to comply with the wishes of this zhyrtelor officer he would have to tell the man what that piece of fabric was in truth-they had no use for it and would perhaps understand how important it was to him.

Leaning forward and displaying the stained cloth in front of the young mehandor’s face Jaskhor asked again.  
“So, mehan’skhe’. What-is-this?”

Cunor took a deep breath and evenly retorted: “It’s a fragment of the sleeve of the jacket I wore the day my family was murdered. We were boarded, and the intruders killed my family and our crew one by one in hideous ways. The stains are my pregnant mother’s blood and the one of my brother, of our crew-men and my friends. It’s all I have left of them. I alone of all the crew escaped and had to watch our ship explode and burn to nothing within an instant as I looked back from the escape pod. Does that explanation suffice?”

The officer frowned and narrowed his eyes.  
“It would suffice-if it were true. But that’s easy to prove.”

Without any further ado, he took a syringe out of his pocket, grabbed the young mehandor’s arm, and had his sleeve open and pushed up very swiftly. Jabbing the needle into the youth’s arm bend he drew a good amount of his detainee’s blood and had the exhibit pocketed within shortest order.

Cunor’s face had gone white, the sides of his nose trembled, and his eyes blazed light red with suppressed rage. But he managed to control himself and only closed his eyes shortly, taking a deep breath and another, and then looked up at the zhyrtelor orbton with an expressionless mien.

With his heavy white eyebrows raised and his lips pursed the police officer had watched the young mehandor. Now he slowly inclined his head and remarked calmly: ”I believe you about the emotional importance this piece of cloth has for you, mehan’skhe’, whether or not it is what you say. About that, we will see and investigate. As to your age-you’ve proven right now again that you cannot be as young as your body making you look like a waif suggests. You’re a mehan’zarak as he is described by the book of zhyrtelor examination, and mark me well, mehan’skhe, I won’t be hoodwinked by you, no matter if you try to impress me with mehinda speech. Up with you, and come with me.”

Wordlessly Atlan complied, inwardly quite relieved that his camouflage wasn’t blown. 

The investigation cell was as every such cell appeared throughout the Tai Ark’Tussan. The prisoner’s seat-malleable to accommodate arkonoid persons as well as citizens of the Tai Ark’Tussan of different shapes-with its tangle-field stood before a simple and bare table, behind which two comfortable seats awaited two investigators. The usual method employed was the one of the Yilld and the Priestess, one of the zhyrtelori playing the sympathetic one while the other one was going at the prisoner like a yilld of the rocks.  
Light bright enough but at least not glaring illuminated the person to be investigated, to let the police see unhindered how he or she was reacting to the questions they were asking. On the table stood glasses full of water, one of them near enough to be reached by the prisoner, which told the young prince that the tangle-field was adjusted in a way that would allow very slow and careful movements of his on the one hand, and that the zhyrtelori expected the examination to take quite some time on the other. The back wall consisted of a light-grey shimmering screen; behind it, others who were listening in would be sitting.

For Cunor Lant’cer it was Orbton Jaskhor who led the questioning, together with a middle-aged Arkonath woman with short-cut hair who gave the young mehandor the hint of a motherly smile. Who was to play the priestess and who would attack like a yilld was clear from the start, right. Neither of them, of course, was a true friend, as Jaskhor could not be called a true enemy either. He was just doing his duty and, thanks to the Gods, had no idea whom he was dealing with; apart from the fact that even then he most likely would not have known how to behave correctly in front of the Gos athor da Arkon. 

“This is orbton Arvela Tarxhid”, Jaskhor introduced the woman shortly. “And she won’t be taken in by your antics either, mehan’skhe.” He leaned forward and fixed his gaze upon the young prisoner’s face, laying the stained slip of fabric on the table right in front of his eyes. 

“The blood on this piece of cloth belongs to several persons alright, one of them a pregnant woman, and it was soaking in at almost the same time-but none of them shows any genetic relation to you! Not anyone of those persons is related to you in any way, mehan’skhe! So how come you say that they were your family?!”

Atlan took a deep breath. The moment officer Jaskhor had taken a blood sample from him he had known that this question would arise, and he had an answer ready, one hopefully plausible enough.

“You know that my clan was not one of the big mehandor families of the most ancient tradition, orbton Jaskhor”, he replied stiffly and was answered with a sarcastic laugh.

“Yours was a mehan’zarak clan at best, mehan’skhe”, he said contemptuously. “Of the family of Lant’cer I never have heard before, and that must go for almost all other citizens of the Tai Ark’Tussan, at least the honest and law-abiding ones. Nor, I believe, would anyone right in his mind have wished to make the acquaintance. That your ship was registered at Lepso says it all.”

The young mehandor compressed his lips while his eyes flashed light red with anger.

“Now, now, orbton Jaskhor”, the woman soothingly threw in. “The boy can’t personally be faulted for his birth or his up-bringing, can he? Just explain to us, Cunor, who your parents were and why the woman you called your mother wasn’t related to you.”

Atlan swallowed. No matter that Lesena had been his nanny and not his true mother-she had been there for him all his life and had been the one who in truth had brought him up, had sung to him, had taught him his first steps, and had told stories to him, explaining the world and whatever he already could understand of life. Having to speak of her, with the piece of his jacket stained by her blood before his eyes, he was unable to keep himself from remembering her death cry, or the way her blood had felt soaking into his sleeve-or Kelta’s as it stuck to his fingers-

Tears threatened to well up, and he did not try to prevent them, but let them run down his cheeks with a desperate pinch of his lids. They should see that he was emotionally engaged in this matter, oh yes, if he could not keep himself from crying!  
“I never knew my true mother”, he answered in a hoarse voice. “She died shortly after my birth. My father, Aloroy Lant’cer, was our ship’s captain and did not have to look far for his second wife. She was my mother’s best friend and came to us with her adopted son, who was not so much younger than her. He became my elder brother, my protector, and my best friend. His name was Kel. He taught me how to fight and what to be careful of, and always was good to cover for one of my pranks.”

Which was none but the clearest truth. Kelta had been more of a friend than a bodyguard to the young Gos athor. Apart from that, with these zhyrtelori he could not come up with the story of the unacknowledged On’s son, because they knew that Kelta and Lesena had not been related, and they better should never hear of the elt’ pamthole’s tricks and how he had been taught to act as the impostor of a noble by his foster mother. At least they had not analyzed the blood on the cloth so closely that they would have noticed that Getray was not related to him either. They only knew that his mother had been pregnant.

“His blood, and hers and that of my unborn little sister soaked into my sleeve. They had Taddo in a tanglefield on the bridge and had him watch, one murder after the other.  
I escaped from our room and so was not cut up like our crewmen belowdecks where I ran first, to find help and instead only fell over their corpses, slipping in their blood.”

The young mehandor closed his eyes and dryly sobbed once, taking a few gulping breaths, visibly fighting to get himself under control again.  
Looking up again he almost tonelessly went on. “Me they tried to kill by suffocating, closing the corridor from both sides and sucking out the air. But it was my ship, you see, and I got to the emergency exit down to the pods in time. So, I got away, and the pod was likely too small for them to find after, among the debris. That’s all.”

The two zhyrtelori were silent and even looked a little shocked. Then orbton Jaskhor cleared his throat and said:” They. Who were they?”

Cunor flipped back his hand in denial. 

“I have no idea. The attack came as a total surprise to us. It happened even inside Firing system, shortly after we had left the spaceport. Some enemies of my father he never told me about, obviously. There was a lot my father never told me about since I was too young, everything about his business and his connections included. Kel knew, being older, and so did mother and uncle Deni, of course. But I-I was kept from the ports and never was let off-board there, only dockside at some of our space-stations. Taddo wanted me to be safe.”

He closed his eyes, and a few more tears ran down his cheeks. But then he visibly pulled himself together. His eyes glowing light red and his voice firm once again, the young mehandor said:” I want this piece of cloth back, please. It’s my property, and it’s all I have left of my family, of my beloved ones. You have no right to keep it from me.”

Lifting his heavy white brows zhyrtelor orbton Jaskhor replied coldly:” I have every right to keep a piece of evidence, and the story you told us can be true or not and might be believed or not. There is no proof but your word you have offered to us. Whether I believe you will have to do with the truthfulness of your other statements, young ser merchanter. Provided that your story is true so far-how did you arrive here upon Tela-vhelor, and why did you come to this planet?”

Young ser merchanter, Jaskhor was calling him, Atlan thought with inner relief. That was a significant step upward from an address like mehan’skhe. It seemed that the orbton believed his story, as cautiously as he acted otherwise.

Ostentatiously licking his lips nervously-he had noticed that the woman, officer Tarxhid, was watching his body language closely-he answered:” I could sell the pod to the stationers who pulled me in eventually and got the hell away from the place as swiftly and as far as I could, no matter where to. Could be the tappol of the Debara Hamtar for all I cared, just as it has turned out, if it only was where those murderers of my family wouldn’t think of searching for me. That I got here was pure chance, though. I traveled upon mehandor ships if I found one that would offer a berth and would let me work my way through at least partly. The last one that offered passage to me, rather out of mercy than for a good price, was the Halmoccar IX.”

That was the ship he had seen at the port of Makarsa the prago he had sold his goods and realized that Lesena’s murderers had followed him even down here. That ship was small enough to have landed at the spaceport, rather than having docked at the station, and would not have loaded cargo that could be bought in cheap quantities, but would have bought some cargo of relative quality, like food specialties or, rather more likely, had offered some quality merchandise to Makarsan businessmen. Anyway, a merchanter who would stoop to trade with Tela-vhelorans could not be a big-scale mehandor with many ships, but most likely had but that one family ship like the Lirela had been one, though the mehandor he had seen re-enter the port and be controlled by the KOLLOSS had looked like the average stocky type and had had red braided hair, whether it was dyed or had grown so naturally. Such a ship’s captain might in truth take in a strange mehandor youth and ask not too many questions if the one paid his fee, and he easily might prefer to let his passenger slip out of the port without having registered him to save taxes and charges. For the same reason he might not have registered that said passenger in his own ship’s positronicon-and if that passenger forgot to register himself with the authorities of the port in question, that was not the captain’s business either, now was it?

From the face officer Jaskhor was pulling he had guessed correctly, the young prince saw.

Relieved, and calmly, he explained:” But the Halmoccar was going on to Trantagossa, and that is another hub where someone might look for me, sometimes. So I paid my fee and got out here, and asked the captain to forget about registering me. I managed to slip through controls with his help, and so came here. It was not to break the law, or to save the registration charges. You know that I had some little money left. But I hoped to leave no traces so that any inquiry about me by-by my family’s murderers, whoever they might be-might come up nil. It might be lethal to me if you report me to the port register now, orbton Jaskhor, small as the chance might be that they, whoever they were, would look for me there. Please, officer-“

The young mehandor stopped and took a deep breath, apparently unknowing how to go on.

The zhyrtelor orbton cleared his throat again and even looked a little discomfited. It seemed that he believed his prisoner now.  
“There is no need for me to report you to the port authorities, mehan’tho”, he murmured. “That’s not my business or my task.”

He leaned forward, his mien having become sharp and cold again.  
“But inquiring after your deeds in my district, no matter how you got here is, mehan’skhe. You got into a brawl with one Isshko, whom you injured badly enough. I could reconstruct the goings-on well enough to believe that both of you provoked each other, and in light of an incident in a train that has happened lately and only was brought to my attention the prago after by automatic alert I would have let the matter go as such, accepting that ser Isshko Av’henor got but what was his due. But you were caught with a live gun in your hand, in lethal mode, one man knocked out, obviously by you, one man shocked and another one injured. Together with the leader of a most notorious wenadoran of the district and his pakka-thoi. You heard what ser Kher’tavon was claiming, and the complaint he filed immediately. Yet, where is proof of the claimed circumstances, which might be mitigating in truth? Your adversaries claim, of course, that they were, all unprovoked, assaulted by you and your wenadoran. They even say that you were the leader in the brawl and the one responsible for things getting out of hand.”

“How and when? I stepped in between sera Sirsal and the leader of Tscheketh’s bunch who threatened her with his gun live-the one I took from him, and which I was caught with. He had it set on severe burning, not lethal, but that was enough of a threat, I believe, and Enteko has caught just such a hit! The man demanded we hand Karena over to him. Tscheketh had had her abducted two pragos ago, and she was lucky that she could flee when his security system was malfunctioning because of a fire in the building. She’s good at what she’s doing and she looks good, so I can well believe that this Tscheketh wants her, for himself and to work for him. But that should be her choice, where and with whom she works, shouldn’t it? Instead she was abducted and raped and beaten up because she fought those bullies and would not meekly comply, and no matter she’s a famkarthona and such things like sleeping with men are normal for her in her course of work, she had not consented and was not paid! Apart from being handled so roughly. As far as I know that incident hasn’t been reported to you, and I don’t do it either, officially. That’s Karena’s business, or Rhonn’s. But I tell you just so’s you might know some of the things going on with this matter. As for the truth of my description of the events this prago, that I can prove to the last click. I am wearing a body cam, the one my boss at work, sera Krenna Marneen, gave to me as she told you she would. And that cam has recorded everything from the moment I stepped out to meet Isshko.”

With a slow motion Cunor Lant’cer raised his still cuffed hands to his chest to point at the clasp he wore to close his shirt. With surprise the zhyrtelori stared at that clasp, and then Jaskhor shut off the shackling field for a moment and took that clasp off his prisoner’s shirt, holding it up to see clearly and wordlessly showing it to his partner.  
As wordlessly he listened to some order he got by his earpiece and left as quietly, the clasp with the in-built body cam in his hand. Atlan was left with the policewoman who slightly inclined her head to him and was even handed the water by her to let him drink when he tried to reach the glass and failed, because he had been too swift to move.

They let him sit there for another half-tonta. The female officer was silent and did not ask anything, and the young prince was disinclined to talk about anything inanely just for the sake of being polite. Instead he closed his eyes and took deep slow breaths, going down into Dagor meditation level one, and then two, calming down completely and feeling light and steady inside. That he could prove the truth of his statement seemed to have changed his situation for the better. Someone, obviously the officer’s superior, must have listened in and had ordered him to present the evidence his prisoner had handed to him.

“Ser Lant’cer.” The cool voice of the zhyrtelor orbton woke Atlan from his trance and made him open his eyes. The tanglefield no longer hindered his movements; obeying the summoning gesture of the police officer he rose and followed him to another door, which opened into an office of much greater dimensions.

The elder woman with a very sharp gaze, leaning back in her comfortable seat with superior ease, made him become very alert in his own turn. She felt like a well-meaning but necessarily strict aunt to him who would see to it that there were order and effective peace among her unruly bunch of nieces and nephews. 

Her hair, worn in a long braid, was fixed around her head like a shining wreath framing her well-featured but stern face. The uniform she wore identified her as the leading officer of police in this district; no mean honour, then, for a strange mehan’kath’zarak to be brought to an interview with her.

On the desk in front of her, the once-red piece of cloth lay, stained with Lesena’s and Kelta’s blood.

When he looked up from it, forcing himself to meet her gaze squarely, the young prince felt the look of her eyes go through him like a jolt. What did she see, what did she notice others had not? Involuntarily he had taken up a position of parade rest, instinctively reacting to a woman with a natural command to her personality.

She inclined her head gravely to the youth whose face had become expressionless.  
“It seems to me that you are so much more than just a petty street-gang brawler, Cunor Lant’cer”, she said slowly. Her voice was a resonating alto that made one concentrate upon her words. This woman had her share of true charisma if she chose to employ it. Why did she, now, with a worthless kath’ zarak who had but lately come to her district?  
Her hand opened and laid the clasp on the desk beside the piece of fabric.

“The record of this camera proves very well where provocation and attack lay, and who was acting in self-defense. With this Rhonn and his wenadorani are free to go within the tonta. As to you, Cunor-here some discussion starts. You were found with a live gun threatening a man, you obeyed too slowly when you were ordered to give up and kneel, and you are new to my district and obviously need a thorough lesson to teach you how to behave, here upon Tela-vhelor. On the other hand, it was you who was assaulted on the train, and so was sera Sirsal. We found evidence of your report swiftly enough when we looked. Moreover, I liked your gallant and brave move to protect her as you jumped in front of her-what makes me more thoughtful, though, was this calm comment of yours just before you attacked. “Set to kill your guns would have those red rings blazing at the muzzle. Yours gleam blue.”-Isn’t that the assessment of a man with a lot of fighting experience? Or of a young man who has been trained very intensely to fight and has learned much about traps of every kind? Like the one a harmless servo bot could be remodeled for. To have smelled that brekkar is an impressive performance.”

Wordlessly Atlan gave her a polite little bow, hoping to Daremmol that the woman would not conclude more that would endanger him severely.

“I am aware that we are harbouring a surprisingly sharply honed shader sword in our district now. Do you deny that, mehan’tho?”

The young prince felt cold. Her eyes felt like a snow-yilld’s now, hypnotizing and immobilizing its prey before it came on leisurely to kill and feast upon the corpse.  
Swallowing he bowed again. To this woman he could not lie or evade her surmises. She knew and had seen. Admitting the truth with her would be the only option he had left.

“No, sera.”

She inclined her head at his open admittance and looked him up and down, taking her time. Then she snapped her fingers and rose.

“What makes me accept you so far nevertheless, mehan’tho, is the fact that though you broke the law, coming here, getting out of port without registering, you have tried to be law-abiding since. You have found work and keep to it well and diligently and seem to have won both the trust and the appreciation of your boss and your colleagues. Earning money honestly and by your own hard work is the only acceptable way to do it, and you seem to know that. When you had to fight, you were the attacked one and did no more to your adversary than you had to, defending yourself. And you have made use of your knowledge to the advantage of others, saving lives even if that might expose your talents and your training, instead of misusing your powers or keeping quiet to stay safe.”

Atlan waited, suspicion growing in his heart.

“It went up in an explosion that would have eradicated the whole house”, the police superior said softly. “Your warning came just in time. You were gallant and brave towards sera Sirsal, and you were considerate and brave just as much, endangering yourself by exposing yourself when you gave warning about that robot. All of that gives me hope of you and your character, Cunor Lant’cer, and advises me to offer you one more chance. Stay on the violet side of the law, see to it that you do not slip into another wenadorani brawl, and work honestly and hard, and you might find friends here and also a new home for yourself. For this one first time, I shall let you go within the tonta together with your new mates. Watch what you will allow them to draw you into, mehan’tho. I can sense that you have had a much better education and could become someone honest and appraised in an honest society, other than your father did. In the end, he died for the crimes he committed and was destroyed by the relations he had bonded himself to. You need not follow in his steps. Let go of the thought of vengeance, bury your dead also within your heart, and start your life anew. If you do as you did up to now-the most recent incident excluded-it might become a good one here in Makarsa. My blessing you would have, ser Cunor Lant’cer.”

“Sera.” The young prince bowed deeply and even felt a little affected. This woman meant well, as hard-nosed as she might be otherwise. What a shame that she, even if personally likable, was an ally of Lesena’s murderers- even if unknowing and against her will or character.

“I’m Tetsina Keragon.” The woman smiled and inclined her head. “Get yourself going from my office, mehan’tho, and take the chance I am offering.” She gestured to the clasp and the fabric on the desk, and with a remote uncuffed her young prisoner.

Atlan stepped forward and took back the only memento he had of the ones he had loved, and who had been murdered so horribly before his eyes. His fingers cramped around the fabric and almost painfully held on to the small slip. Then he took off the cuffs, laid them on the table, took the clasp and bowed once more, and saw to it he left here in truth, picking up the wenadorani on his way and damned-to Ereinnye getting out of this place.

Rhonn grinned and patted his new pakka-tho’s shoulder enthusiastically.

“You’ve performed outstandingly, merchanter mate”, he said almost jubilantly. “The way you’ve downed Isshko, none of us ever could have done that, and like that! Gods, that was outstanding! And how you acted when Karena was threatened-I wouldn’t have been that swift! And that was really brave! And you acted so coolly! “Set to kill your guns would have those red rings blazing at the muzzle. Yours gleam blue.” That was top, really the top of cool! And what you did then-this prago, merchanter mate, you’ve really proven your worth to anyone! Morenth will be most satisfied and will accept you now the better, and Mexon-when we tell him all that has happened with you, he’ll be really proud and call you an asset of the unit! That’s his best praise. And Gods, don’t you deserve it! You were absolutely Gods-be great! Like any Ganvallon!”

The young mehandor smiled fleetingly for a moment at being compared to the legendary hero, but overall, he stayed serious and kept a straight face while they went their way down to the hovertrain stop, free men and a free woman when they had had to fear having to spend pragos in remand prison. But Cunor’s body cam and the undeniable proof it gave had changed all of that. The judicial system upon Tela-vhelor did not spend time or energy on futile cases and lawsuits. If an acquittal of the accused was to be expected by a hundred percent no money was spent upon locking up a prisoner and keeping him or her or upon lawyers or a trial at all, which spared time, effort, energy, and money for both the government and the subject concerned. On the other hand, the speed-trials someone like a wenadorano of the port district would likely be subjected to were too perfunctorily carried out and too easily condemned an accused on evidence too flimsy, or no evidence at all if worst came to worst. 

As it was, this time matters had been to their advantage, Rhonn said, a bit of a frown returning to his face. Which was of course good, but-how soon would Tscheketh start a new assault? Very clearly Karena was a target and had to be guarded and kept safe. That meant that for the time being she would have to work at home without exception, and could not accept a date outside of the house. Wherever else she went she would have to be accompanied by at least two of the elder boys. Morenth would have to be notified the moment they got home, the young gang-leader murmured, and this matter had to be solved as soon as possible. As it was the situation was unbearable in the long run.

That got Cunor’s attention, who had walked looking down at the ground or had glanced ahead without seeming to see anything much in front of his eyes.  
The look he sent to his boss out of suddenly light-red eyes was pretty sharp.

“Whatever is it that Karena knows, and Tscheketh wants to get from her? Why does he go about the matter so aggressively now, and did not do so at another time? Now that for a few pragos Mexon is not here? What difference could his presence make, what does Tscheketh fear he could do to stop him from getting whatever he wants from Karena? Rhonn, that’s what has to be answered before effective counter-measures can be implemented to solve whatever situation you think you have! No matter that there’s an unspoken law among you that says you mustn’t inquire, and Karena mustn’t tell, it has become an unacceptable security risk to your-to our-wenadoran now, and if you are so sure that Tscheketh will attack soon again, then you better should know why and what for to be at least able to assess how far he would go and where he would aim-apart from Karena. Who is behind him, what are the circumstances influencing this matter, what’s in the cup he is being served, who stirs it? Who are they, where are they, what have they got? I get the feeling that you are dealing somewhat weakly with the whole thing. If you know you are being targeted you should act, get intelligence, prepare counter-measures, counterattack. To my eyes we are too much a sitting target, doing nothing, only ducking our heads. That won’t deflect a shot and won’t keep Tscheketh from shooting, or it would have deterred him before! What’s your strategy, Rhonn?”

The gang-leader had listened with eyes narrowing and widening and now stood, his mound open before he closed it with a snap and swallowed.

“That’s what I would have asked of Mexon, hoping for his advice, if he were here”, he admitted with a grimace, starting to walk on again. His frown deepened.

“Strategy, hah. There isn’t much of a strategy we can bring together, is there? To your eyes, that might look weak, maybe. But we are dependent upon Morenth, he’s the boss we look to and who has the say. He must learn about the situation first, and then he’ll tell us what he wants us to do, or not to do. And he will act on his own according to his own plans and his own knowledge and his own strategy, which we don’t know of much and which we shouldn’t mess up with any action of ours on a larger scale he hasn’t had his say on. As much is clear, Cunor, and that’s what counts first for us, or we will have Morenth against us too, and he won’t be lenient with a wenadoran of his and pakka-thoi who disobey and follow their own heads without obeying him and waiting for his say!”

The young mehandor pressed his lips together. His eyes flashed as he made an expressive gesture with his hands.

“So it’s him and his pakka-thoi against this wenadoran no less than Tscheketh and his people, isn’t it? There’s such a lot of talk about Morenth and his interests. What about yours? What about the interests of the guys and gals who look to you, Rhonn, and have themselves and their lives entrusted to you? I’ve given my word to you, and it’s your, and our, interests I have at heart, not Morenth’s. With him I have a Deal, which is a matter much different. To me, he is a kind of business partner, whom I on general terms see eye to eye to, on one level, while as long as I am living in his territory he is, admittedly, my senior business partner. But no more than that. You, I’ve given my word to as the boss of the wenadoran I’ve joined here, who has taken me in and given me a berth and a place to live, and a kind of a family and a ship’s crew again. With you and the others, I have formed a bond. You are my bonded friend, literally, aren’t you?”

Almost looking stunned, Rhonn turned his wrist. That was so, and wouldn’t have to be mentioned with the others. It was understood from the start, and he saw now that his new mehandor friend understood the matter as clearly. 

“So.” For a moment Cunor smiled quite warmly. “Don’t they say that “A Bonded friend stands with you closer than a brother”? You can hear that quote from the ancient drama in every other episode of whatever vid-drama series. This is how we stood together, as a ship’s clan. That’s how I will stand with you. Don’t worry that I might go against your will, thinking to know better than you. I’ve given you my word that I’ve accepted you as my boss, Rhonn, and if you say no it’s no, much as I might think otherwise. I’ve learned that I don’t know enough to be on a safe and sure ground here, and if I thought I did so before, our last mission at the Blue Sphere has taught me differently very harshly. But don’t forget, either, that I and what I see and know might be a gift for you and our wenadoran, perceiving matters as I see them from the outside, not as you know them and have come to believe them to be. Make use of the sources you’ve been handed, and do not squander them. With Mexon away you must make use of whatever else you can get your hands on, and I and my knowledge might be part of that.”

A lop-sided smile curved the gang-leader’s mouth. “A real fine Sahyas Payneen da Asa nan’ sahín, you are, merchanter mate, you mean? A Gift of Fate, wrapped in shining sheeting and smelling like kamyan blooms, are you?”

The description and the picture it evoked made even the suddenly so earnest young mehandor snort, and Rhonn’s smile widened to a short grin. 

“Well, Karena might almost think so after this gallant move of yours to save her. But Morenth won’t if you only hint at any opposition, merchanter mate. You don’t realize how the situation is, here and with us, I gather. Cunor, the house we live in isn’t ours on record. It belongs to Morenth, and he lets us live and stay there and lets us do as we would as long as we do as he asks, now and then. And then we obey, right and clean and on the spot, got that? Morenth’s the boss the whole district looks to. If we run afoul of him we’d better leave, and in a hurry-and whether we can go anywhere we won’t be ousted the next moment or beaten to a pulp by the residents remains to be seen. Corgon territory might take us in, they’d be ones who would not care if Morenth is pissed off or not. But if you feel troubled with having to obey Morenth and wait for his say-then you won’t be able to survive in Corgon territory if you’ve got such delicate a stomach, merchanter mate.”

Cunor stopped for a moment, hands at his hips. “This isn’t about my stomach, Rhonn, and you know that!” 

He took a few long and swifter steps to catch up with the older boy.  
“It’s about us under the promise of attack from Tscheketh and having to sit still facing that menace, having to wait for Morenth’s decision when he won’t protect us against that brawler! This feels like an attack threatening to come from two sides, one from Tscheketh where Morenth will leave us in the lurch instead of protecting us because Karena and you messed up with Tscheketh on your own before, and one from Morenth himself if we would lift a finger in self-defense if we happen to be in his way with that, unable to know that in advance-and from Morenth a third time, actually, if he decides he wants Karena out of the way and silenced! Gods, this Morenth seems to be no better a protector than a Kasha Cat which could at any moment decide to turn on you and eat you instead of guarding you as it promised!”

“Hey, Cunor! Hey.” The gang-leader stopped and turned to the young mehandor, putting his hands upon his shoulders to steady him. The merchanter stood still, looking into Rhonn’s eyes with his own flashing light-red ones.

“You’ve misunderstood something here.” Rhonn took a deep breath. “That was a-possible-danger when Karena was in Tscheketh’s hands already and might have been forced to spill on our boss. Now that she isn’t anymore the situation on that is changed vastly. Now it’s in Morenth’s own best interests that he won’t let her be abducted again and sees her safe. Second, about Tscheketh: we’ve weathered the first attack on our own and so did what was expected of us, stood up for ourselves, and drank up the mix we’ve brewed. If Tscheketh goes on as he has done, aiming for Karena-as he seems he will-he indirectly goes for Morenth’s throat too, and that our boss won’t countenance. Then the matter instantly will become his own affair, and as such he will handle it, and Tscheketh won’t know where the hit he received came from, that swiftly will he get his slap. Chance is, he knows that and won’t go as far, and let be for now.”

“He didn’t consider getting into Morenth’s way right now!”

Rhonn sighed, and snapped his fingers, agreeing. They went on.

“No, he didn’t. Up to now he got away with everything he did and seems to think that will go on like that. It looks like he thought himself in too good a position, with the customers he has and the contacts he has gotten. But that surety might have become brittle, with what you have initiated, genius eltyan pamthole that you are, Cunor.”

“That he sees his losol crystals crumble might be the very reason he thinks he has to make another forward move and go for Karena again!”

The gang-leader pursed his lips and frowned. “Yes, that’s true”, he sighed. “But, Cunor-on principle: I agree upon danger threatening from Tscheketh. But not from Morenth, even if he has not helped us up to now. From now on, he will, in his own best interests. And about your fears that he might turn on us at the slightest provocation, posing an incalculable and hazardous risk to us at all times, as you seem to think- that's pure zar’she, stardust. He won’t, he’s true to his own and to his word, as any boss is who is worth following. And even if he wouldn’t, a boss whom his men have to fear like that and can’t trust like that won’t have any to follow very soon and risks being attacked by his men before he could do harm to them. Scenarios like the one you fear are the stuff of vid-drama, not real-life matters.”

Atlan swallowed and took a deep breath, and inclined his head. “Te, sav, maina”, he murmured. “Yes, alright, I understand. So we can leave Morenth out of immediate consideration, concerning danger threatening. Still, we should better find out swiftly what this is all about, seen from Tscheketh’s angle of view! It has to do with Mexon, it’s something Karena has found out and knows about this dead gang-leader-Kolyan-and it’s something that’s important to Morenth. Exactly in order not to stumble to his purple and dangerous side, we should see to it that we know how to avoid making trouble and making ourselves useful. If we know what’s going on, and what this is all about, and can on the contrary avoid or repel further trouble with Tscheketh the swifter-and perhaps even give Morenth more of what he wants and needs, perhaps from ‘Tscheketh’s data stores-then we’ll be on the violet side of our boss, and even get some reward. Fighting blind, with scant or no equipment, always puts one at a great disadvantage.”

Rhonn turned his wrist. That was but true, and slowly Cunor’s arguments were gaining weight with him.

“You’re right about that, merchanter mate, as much I’ll concede. And also about your view from outside, seeing things in a new light. It’s true as well that we need some help and some plan, and for that we need the data to go by-in all that I’ll agree. Mexon would have assisted me in this matter, and he would have known where the catches lie and why, and would have advised me. Now that he isn’t here, I’ll dare to rely on you. That you’re up to it, and have learned more about strategy than I have, you already have proven. Your plan to get out Karena was real top, and it worked down to the last click, no matter that you had to do a grand mop-up after because that mop-up worked too.”

He held out his hand and grinned sharply.  
“We’ll be partners in strategy, Cunor Lant’cer. But whatever you hear and get told never must reach the ears or the eyes of anyone I do not authorize, be it Mexon or Karena, Enteko or Selaron, Jhaftokan, or Aday. The others never get told anything on that level at all, yet, and they know it and go by that. For this first round of data exchanged, we’ll have you and me and Karena, and we’ll try to find the brekkar in the duct. Might turn out to be the clutch of the Yilld’s eggs too, if we are lucky. You’ll be in with me on anything we find out if you go on as you did up to now.  
Deal, mehandor pal? Will you give me your word on that?”

“Deal. Mapan thundo.” Cunor took Rhonn’s hand, and they held on to each other’s wrists and pressed them, then let go with a solemn bow to each other. “You have my word, Rhonn Kher’tavon. No-one gets to know anything whom and what you haven’t had your say on. And I’ll do my very best.”

“That I know anyway.” The young gang-leader inclined his head, smiling a little. “And that best of yours definitely topped what Tscheketh could come up with. And-“  
He took a deep breath. “Some things Karena has told me nevertheless before, about what this matter now might be about. And merchanter pal, weren’t you just right the very first time you guessed. Damn sharp you are. If Morenth realizes at any time that I’ve spilled to you and goes at us for it, he can hear me say I had had to make you one who knows, because you found out on your own right away. Because you really have an eye that sees clearly, and a mind that can analyze. And that’s no joke or an exaggeration, Cunor.”

Atlan had his brows up and felt somewhat justified. Rhonn surely had taken him up on his offer to advise him on strategy because he needed the help, and knew it, and because he, Cunor Lant’cer, had so well proven what he was capable of and what he could pull off, no matter that he almost had botched some parts of his great plan due to his inexperience when they went to free Karena. But some of his actions during that mission, and after, were even now paying off, and he had managed to mop up what he had spilled, just in time and with Aday’s help. And then the gang-leader was trusting him now, which had been a hard-won gift no less. The facts he had quoted now, to tell to Morenth if the one ever asked, might play some little part in instigating Rhonn’s sudden confidentiality as well, though.

He bowed and caught Rhonn’s last words on the matter for now. The leader of the wenadoran looked at the young prince very earnestly and spoke solemnly and softly.

“And you really took risks for us and for Karena when you jumped in front of her. At that moment you could not know yet that the guns weren’t set on lethal, you couldn’t see that then, I believe. That was real and nothing you could have faked in any way, merchanter mate. I owe you for that and for my gal, I owe you big. And so does she.”

Atlan bowed again, really touched by Rhonn’s earnest tone. Though that tone changed with the next sentence.

“You should take her up on her offer, you know, Cunor. You never could learn something as vital as how to fuck a gal with a woman who would be there for you so unrestrainedly and willing to teach. And without asking payment, mark you. The service you’d get is great. Trust me, merchanter mate. I know.”

The young gang-leader grinned quite lewdly and winked at his nonplussed mehandor friend, then turned on his heel and marched on to reach the wenadorani who waited down the street for their two lag-behinds. The merchanter followed after standing there stunned for a few moments.

With a frown Rhonn looked over at Cunor as they sat at the table, having their evening mash which Ihri had cooked quite tasty and yummy. Everyone was light-hearted and fooled around, happy about the fight won and the zhyrtelori so lenient. Everyone but Cunor, who was staring down at his bowl and eating sparingly, having accepted only half his share, pecking at his food more than heartily stuffing himself as the others did. That he had little appetite was clear, no matter that he was one of the heroes of this brawl and had had the best luck of them all when the head of police, orbton Keragon herself, had let him go instead of keeping him in custody for berlons as officer Jaskhor had promised he would.  
Now the young mehandor raised his head and looked around, watching what his comrades did and whether they looked at him, and unobtrusively stood to go, and left like a man who would return presently. But he didn’t turn to the toilet at the end of the corridor.

The gang-leader’s gaze met Karena’s, whose look appeared worried. They were of the same opinion, as often they were, it seemed.

“He might need support now”, Rhonn murmured to her as he rose. He had seen Cunor’s hand go to his breast wherein his inner shirt-pocket that ominous piece of cloth lay again. The zhyrtelori had dragged it and the history attached to it into the glaring light of their interview lamps, no question, and must have interrogated the young merchanter closely upon it. Cunor had told him only perfunctorily about what had happened to his family, and how it had come to be that he was all alone, without ship or relatives. They had been killed and murdered, the ship blown up, and only he had escaped, as much he had said, and that had been quite enough for Rhonn to know who had seen his own mother raped and murdered, and knew how pain and desperation and the wish for revenge could burn in a man’s heart, no matter how young he was. The young merchanter’s mother had died by a sonic grenade turning her body to a bloody mess in an instant, killing her unborn daughter together with her.

He was sitting at the edge of his cot, the light of the single lamp he had activated gleaming on his white mehandor braid and the bangs falling into his face, partway obscuring it. Staring down at the once-red scrap of stained fabric he held he gave no sign that he had heard his friends come in.  
Silently Rhonn sat down upon Aday’s bed, facing the young merchanter, while Karena sat down at his left side and gently laid her hand upon his knee.

“Cunor, we’re here”, she said softly. “You aren’t alone anymore.”

For a khela he did not react, then his head sank lower a little. Still not looking up he began to speak haltingly.

“What the zhyrtelori said-that my father was a criminal and a drug dealer and was destroyed by the relations he had bonded himself to-that is most likely true. I do not know, for sure, because Taddo kept me from learning yet. He wanted me to be safe, he said, no matter that I already worked for him as an elt’pamthole. But the other kind of business he had, he wouldn’t have me know of till I got older, he said.”

Taking a deep breath the young mehandor went on, still staring down at the piece of cloth in his hand, which he held so firmly that his knuckles were white.

“Mother knew, of course, and Kel, because he was older. And so did uncle Deni. I-was kept out of business matters still. But some things are obvious when one thinks about them, aren’t they?”

Now Cunor looked up and met the gazes of his friends openly.  
“We were based at Lepso, at Orbana, and Taddo spent berlons out of the ship in port. I know that Ehrett Jammun, the chief of the Public Welfare Service of Lepso, was a personal acquaintance of his he met regularly and whom he had business with. That Welfare Service is what the government and the Secret Services are elsewhere, rolled into one, and anyone knowing Lepso also knows what kind of world that is, and which kinds of business are legal there when they aren’t anywhere else. Arkon lets the business go on even now in the war because strangling that would make more trouble and do more harm all around than letting crimes go on, uncle Deni said, and I believe he knew. Then we went on our runs again, and that was to the Galactic Eastside where the Jülziish live, back to the Firing system and from there to the Shemantal da Karsha Sarpa, into majat territory. I do not know much about the Graceful Ones of Gatas, that was what Kel was top at, but I know more than almost anyone else about the majat, and that they sell some of the most exclusive biochem substances and drugs I know of first-hand. From that, it isn’t hard to draw any logical conclusions about my father’s business, and the relations and connections he must have had, is it? The caution he employed with keeping me and mother safe upon Lepso, never letting us leave the ship, speaks for itself in that light also. There must have been people he had to be wary of, and the attack upon the Lirela didn’t happen somewhere out in the Deep either. That was just after lift-off still in Firing system, after we had spent berlons in port. We were boarded with our systems opening up to the intruders, and that means that our comp had been hijacked and prepared downside-and by real experts, because we never noticed. I didn’t, who am not bad a hacker, and Taddo didn’t either, or Kes, who was a real expert and taught me much. To get that done someone quite high up in hierarchy upon Lepso must have helped, and laid edict. Could have been an Orbana internal matter for my Taddo being a friend of Jammun-and it might have been Jammun himself who thought my Taddo expendable or to have become dangerous for something he knew. Not much different from what the situation is like here with Tscheketh and Morenth and something you learned about Kolyan, Karena.”

She paled and compressed her lips, but turned her wrist. Cunor was uncannily right about a lot of things. No wonder, though, with the example of his own father he had in front of his eyes. 

“That the ones who actually did the deeds were drug dealers as apparently my Taddo was is obvious too. They went after me, and are looking for me still. And they didn’t try to kill me as they did on board the Lirela. When they had me for a short time they locked me up, but I wasn’t harmed. Looks like they want to know something first before they kill me, could very well be something I know about my Taddo’s affairs nevertheless, could be about my knowledge on majat, which they might have heard about me knowing only later. With me in their prison cell, they flew here, and landed on this planet where they have allies, the whole damn government of yours and your well-greased Tato at the top, and those allies they must have had before I ran and ended up at Makarsa because that was the only place I could run to hide with some possible success! Now we hear about Tscheketh having grown in the drug business lately. No matter how much he has earned, he can’t have gotten himself enough money to buy majat stuff ordinarily in the quantities and with the quality I saw in his freezer. That was a gift, a handsel to draw him in and lick him into shape, and to make him dependent upon the ones who were so nicely generous.”

The young merchanter smiled shortly and coldly. His eyes flashed.

“Now with firing up his freezer and leaving my hints he’s become suspicious of his new friends, and seems to have done as I have hoped, called them and accused them and demanded recompense and the like. Relations have soured at the moment, it seems. And if you think of the fact that they are in with the government, and therefore with the KOLLOSS which is hunting for me, and farther on with police though the zhyrtelori are not aware of that-then it’s quite revealing a thing that police arrested Tscheketh’s men as well as us and had them questioned and held for as long as they kept us in their custody, isn’t it? The ones high up who must have laid edict for him seem to have at least temporarily withdrawn that kind of protection.”

Rhonn had listened with concentration and a lot of fascination. But now he grimaced.

“Isn’t that a conclusion that’s a little far-fetched? You’re guessing, merchanter mate. I don’t think that you can know all of that!”

“On the contrary.” Cunor’s voice was firm and very serious.

“It all follows logically, one link in the chain to the other, like a line of beacon signals at the spaceport, showing the direction and the way. It makes a damn lot of sense, to me. And these drug-dealers-whatever they are else, and whatever they are after in the last consequence-they aren’t mincing with their means, they have support that counts Empire-wide, and they have no qualms at all. When we were boarded-“

The young mehandor closed his eyes convulsively. Karena reached out and took his left hand and held on to it, while Cunor’s fingers cramped around that small piece of fabric in his right and he stared down at it again.

“We had no warning and no idea that all wasn’t right. We thought ourselves safe in our ship. They boarded first with a lock opening to them and then they installed a small transmitter, so swiftly and with so small a boat we never saw it on screen. Might have been the pamthol screening them and erasing the signals as well, of course. And then they streamed in by that opening, men heavily protected in fighter suits, war-stuff strong as it comes. Kel was out in the corridor, and I thought I heard his gun go off and wondered. But against a suit like that and such screens, any Luccot will be powerless. He threw himself in the way before our door, but they grabbed him and cut him up, long gashes slicing through his body to have him feel the pain before he died. At the time the bridge had been taken, our people there paralyzed, and Taddo had to watch by intercom held in a tanglefield. I know, I saw him on the vid, I saw his face and his eyes when he tried to speak to me.”

Atlan swallowed. It was all real. His father had not been bound in a tanglefield when he had tried to reach out and send a message to his lost son all across the width of the Tai Ark’Tussan by singing that hymn and telling the peoples. But he had been as helpless to reach his son, and had been as unable to find him and get an answer.  
Rhonn’s and Karena’s faces were like white blurs in the semi-darkness beyond the cone of light the small lamp was shedding.

“They came in and went at us all before we even could get up. Uncle Deni was strangled in front of my eyes, grabbed by the throat and lifted by gear-strengthened arms, and as much as he might fight and writhe he was suffocated horribly. Kes was cut up with three major slashes-he fell and lay in a widening pool of blood-and Mam-her they threw against the wall and fired a sonic grenade into her stomach. She turned to a red pulp before my eyes, running down the wall, she and my little sister Getray-they grabbed me and dragged me outside to kill beside my brother, I believe. But the man holding me slipped in Kel’s blood and his grip failed, so I could wrench myself free and grab for Kel’s Luccot, and could run away down the corridor. I got as far as belowdecks where I found some of our crewmates killed by poison gas and cut up as well for good measure, and tried to get away from the pursuers by crawling into maintenance. From there I even got as far as to an access to the bridge. I thought that I could perhaps surprise the ones there and shoot them and free Taddo-but instead I saw the murderers shoot our bridge crew, who lay there paralyzed, one by one methodically, a shot burning out their brains. Others of ours in the engine room were burning alive there, howling and screaming, the stink of their burning flesh crawling even into the maintenance shafts by the ventilation system. I sat there and vomited my heart out. They heard me and went after me. There was nothing I could do but try to run. They locked the doors at the ends of the corridor I was in and tried to gas me. But I was swift enough to escape down to the pods, and got out and survived. The miners drawing me in at long last didn’t ask questions. One doesn’t do that, in the Firing system. So I cut off my braid, and sold the pod, and got myself away as fast as I could. But at the same time, I knew I was being hunted, and that on the other hand, I wanted to find the murderers of my family.”

Cunor looked up. His face was almost as white as his hair, and his light-red eyes burned with emotion.

“I know what my father was, and I can’t, and won’t, excuse him, not to the law and not to some relations he may have had. It is true that I need not follow in his steps, as sera Keragon said. But he was my father, no matter what. He’s the one I loved, and who loved and protected me, who brought me up and had me trained and gave me a mother and a brother and a life. I’m his heir, and that’s all that is left to me now-our name and the Songs and the Blood, and my memories of my beloved ones. Sera Keragon said to me that I should let go of the thought of vengeance and that I should bury my dead also within my heart. She said I should simply start my life anew.”

The young mehandor’s lips twitched in a parody of a smile, without any humour, rather like an expression of pain.

“But that I cannot do with them asking me for what is their right, in every dream I have of them, and by what I know to be right and true deep in my heart”, he whispered. “They have a right to vengeance, and that’s my damn duty now, and if I spend my life on it and die for it in the end. Them out there, in that ship which has landed at this port, who are in with your Tato and who have sold these majat ampoules to this Tscheketh, and who are hunting for me high and low upon this planet-that’s them, they are the murderers of my beloved ones. And I will get them, one by one like they got the crewmen of our ship, and see them punished and die, every one of them till there is no-one of them left who hasn’t faced the consequences of his deeds as my father had to do. And they will die for them as my father had to die.”

Rhonn gave a solemn little bow, hearing this. A zarak’tho like him was no stranger to feelings or promises like that. Had he gotten the opportunity to kill Tscheketh’s man who had raped and killed his mother he would have done so, law or no law. That scoundrel’s luck had let him fall in another skirmish his boss had evoked, and he had died quickly. The young Makarsan had had a fit of rage when he heard. He had wanted to kill the bastard himself, but fate had decreed otherwise. Cunor’s words were fully understood and appreciated by him, though the task the young merchanter had before him was so much bigger than Rhonn’s would have been. He stood against a whole criminal organization operating Empire-wide, it seemed. But he had time at his side. If he managed to slip the net his enemies tried to catch him in and stayed here without getting recognized, he could out-wait them and plan well for the future when he was older and had better strength and skill. He might become a prosperous mehandor by the Deal on majat affairs he had closed with Morenth, and money would buy better help again. There was a chance he might realize the plan of revenge he had promised to his beloved dead right now. Cunor still was alive, and he had friends living here as well. Who knew what might happen? Perhaps the Gods did, and for sure the Goddess of Fate, Asahina.

Karena, living in the Ran-zarak as did Rhonn, had no different view of matters. She also inclined her head solemnly in acknowledgment of Cunor Lant’cer’s words. In this, the Ran’zarak was curiously alike to the customs of the Eldrith, of the highest nobility. Though nowadays the state and its law were the ones to pursuit manslaughter and murder and private justice was a crime as much as an original murder would have been, and blood-feud among the Khasurnai this way was at least officially outlawed, private revenge still existed in the form of socially accepted mannax duels which also avenged crimes against the honour of a person or a Khasurn, and the death of a registered dueller was not anything the law would pursue if he had been fought and killed according to the ancient rules.

The people of the ran-zarak, though, often had too little recourse from law and proper justice. For them to see the murder of beloved ones avenged often only blood-feud murder right back was the only way, and it was vital to their own survival that they would avenge the deaths of their wenadorani brothers and sisters, so that potential enemies at least exercised some restraint about lethally attacking, having to fear the payment they might owe for that with their own lives or the ones of their friends.

“Is there a temple of Famathra in Makarsa?” Cunor asked softly but clearly.

Rhonn held his breath for a moment and then exhaled, turning his wrist, taken by a very solemn feeling indeed now. Their mehandor friend apparently wasn’t only promising revenge to his beloved dead, he was going to give a vow at the temple, before the eyes of the Gods. This was a very serious business and was to be taken most gravely. 

“In one thing sera Keragon was right. It is time to lay my beloved ones to rest in my heart and to burn the death-offering for them. This scrap of cloth is all I have left of them, but I have learned this prago how swiftly that material remembrance could be lost to me. I got it back today; perhaps on another prago, I might lose it for good. I shall give it to the Goddess to keep for me, for us. She has the souls of my beloved ones in her keeping anyway.”

The gang-leader swallowed and saw Karena’s silent tears. The young wenadorani seldom thought and spoke of the gods, their everyday struggle held their uppermost attention. But when they did, they really meant it. In these war-times some cynical views and nihilistic tendencies of philosophy that had existed before had become more spiritual again; in desperation and the struggle for survival people were turning to the Gods once more, and most found better help with them than they had before, opening up their hearts. Philosophy and religion and spirituality were having an astounding renaissance; and it was clear simplicity instead of foppish over-ornate effusions of words that people used, finding true art in heartfelt verses or simple sentences again when they addressed the Gods and spoke about their spiritual experiences.

“As my Bonded Friends-would you accompany me?” Atlan asked as softly and saw them acknowledge quietly. To be asked like this was an honour for them, and was received so. They were to him, here and now, what he had for a family, and that was no fake story either. They were the ones who were closest to him; in spite of the short time they knew each other they had earned each other’s trust; and even without any vow or a ceremony the members of a wenadoran were bonded to each other automatically, for nothing else but “bond” the word “wenareth” meant and said.  
In the end, it was Rhonn and Karena, Selaron and Aday who came with him to the mirkan huhany, the holy place, the temple. Jhaftokan and Ihri watched the house, and Enteko was lying in bed with a leg bound tight and on a strong dose of a painkiller and a soporific. Five was not bad a number; it made up the number of life, which was very fitting when one was dealing with Famathra, the Goddess of Death, and the Life that would grow of it again. Spiritually everything was about harmony and balance. And when a matter was about the Dead, it also had to be about the Living.

As the great one at Arkon this Sacred Place they would be going to, the Temple, was circular and crowned by a dome of coloured glass, in its middle a disc left out to let the smoke of the sacrifices people were burning waft up to the sky.  
Sometimes the Arkonath built single temples to honour a certain Goddess or a certain God, but most often it was a central place for all the twenty-four deities of the Arkonath Star-gods, the She’huan. They were seen as emanations and incarnations, aspects, of Thiath, The One Above Them All, the Most Divine One Itself. The principle of the Divine Itself had no material shape to the eyes of the Arkonath, but existed beyond on the one hand, and was all-encompassing and omnipresent on the other. A central school of thought held that from Thiath all energy and matter had emanated and was emanating, God him-and herself having created everything and experiencing His /Her creation by seeing through the eyes of its creation, only this way being able to perceive him-and herself at all, and if only in blinks and snatches and facets of the Whole. Hence the Gods, who represented different aspects of the Divine Principle, and wore Arkonath shapes to let people understand better and dare approach what was sacred.  
Famathra, the Goddess of Death and Destruction, was also the deity of Rebirth and Reawakening, representing and guiding the Cycle of Life, which was merciless on the one hand and full of Life and Love on the other. Nothing was ever lost in truth; everything always returned, though of course not in the form and with the consciousness it had harboured the last time around.

In the same sense, the Arkonath appealed to her for the sake of merciless and bloody war and asked her to be witness to revenge, but also to forgiveness. In her name, a Wake was held, for she guarded the souls of the dead until they were reborn again. To drink of her cup she kept by her side, filled with salty and bitter tears, meant to feel remorse and bitter regret while offering that cup meant to forgive a person and let go of the thought of revenge.

They had put on their best, which was the black combination Rhonn had worn to the Blue Sphere, and a truly elegant and not at all provoking outfit of white-green combination and plaid for Karena, fit for an evening out at any better place. Atlan, in his persona as Cunor Lant’cer the mehandor youth, forbore to wear the clothes Rhonn had given him for the notorious outing to Tscheketh’s and had preferred his mehandor garb, which was at least cleaned and mended, brushed and pressed into its best shape. He would come to Famathra mourning his mehandor family. There was no better outfit he could choose for that. Aday had on a very proper white suit, while Selaron’s elaborate blue jacket made up for the otherwise used simplicity of his appearance.  
The hovertrain brought them to another and much better district. Almost central to the town of Makarsa a large park adjacent to the governmental district had been planted and designed, with an artificial hill at its center. The mirkan huhany had been erected reminiscent of the Thek-Laktran at Gos Ranton, Karena said, clearly proud of these artful and representative buildings. Atlan swallowed down a comment and even found some appreciation for the temple and the neighbouring edifices. They were, of course, not comparable in any way to the Thek-Laktran. But for themselves they had some freshness of style and were a fitting ambiance for a sacred precinct where the Gods could be revered and prayed to. Especially the dome of coloured glass had its appropriate effect and was impressing a person with the solemnity one needed to feel to conduct solemn business, and glittered on the other hand with colours uplifting enough for a heavy heart to let it open up to the grace and the solace the Gods could offer to their mortal counterparts, children of the Divine Creator all of them on different levels. 

First of all things at the entrance they bought a piece of scented wood and some strings coloured according to the concerns of each of them, and Cunor with a deep bow asked of the priestess welcoming them a small tripod to burn a personal sacrifice at Famathra’s Sacred Place. On they went to the Hall of Sacrifice where around the central fire-bowl under the open sky smaller fire-bowls were set for the individual small gifts and prayers the supplicants and believers would offer and burn, dedicated to all the Gods and to Thiath Itself. Here they burned their scented pieces of wood and softly said their prayers to all the Gods, and begged for their protection and aid. 

The young merchanter was moving quietly and purposefully. A certain stillness seemed to emanate from him as if he was concentrated inward so strongly that his whole person had become solemnity itself, looking elsewhere into another world, and already in communion with his beloved dead.

To have stepped into Famathra’s Circle, such a state of mind and soul and heart was called. Clearly he had withdrawn into himself to prepare for the prayer and the ritual he was going to conduct in honour of his murdered family where he would appeal to Famathra Herself and plead for Her succour.

As in most Arkonath Temples dedicated to all the She’Huan, the Hall of Gifts-also called the Hall of Sacrifice-held Sihayora’s Sacred Fire at its centre, and had the Grotto of the She’Huan beyond it. Some temples of the more modern kind, or the small chapels one could find upon a space ship, consisted of but one circular room where the Hall and the Grotto were united and the niches of the Gods, twenty-four in all, circled the Sacred Central Fire. That kind of arrangement might even have been the original one as practiced by the nomads of Iprasa, who did not build temples and erected circular tents, the records of history stated. Yet the practice of venerating the Gods of the Stars, and the Twelve Heroes, was religion and ritual coming from truly ancient times and had been the religion of the Arkonath before they called themselves by that name, living upon Arbaraith, the Lost World of the Crystals.

When the Arkonath had settled upon Gor Ranton, which had been the original and the first settlement upon the world which now was dedicated to War, they had established a first Temple of the She’Huan with the First Hall of Gifts and a First Grotto of the She’Huan, and this distinction had been maintained when the Thek-Laktran upon what was now Gos Ranton had been erected. There, in the Hall which was the True Heart of Arkon, The Eternal Fire burned in the Home Hearth of Sihayora for all the Tai Ark’Tussan, while in the Saya Tai Moaseke, the Hall of the Imperators, at the Mirkan da Gos Huhany, the crystal hovered which was one of the Great Hallows of the Arkonath originally brought from very Arbaraith. These were two of the Tiga Tai Mirkani Huhany, of the Three Great Holy Places upon the Crystal World. The third was the Grotto of the She’Huan, the Silava da She’Huan, where one was safe within the hands of the Gods.

Here upon Tela-vhelor the Grotto had been built into an artificial hill to form a true Silava. In their niches the images of the Gods stood, holographic similes taken from the original statues housed at the Grotto upon Gos Ranton. The effect of this arrangement was a strange feeling welling up in the heart of the young Gos athor as if for a moment he had truly come home. He had known these very images to represent the Gods he had been taught to pray to and to entrust himself to. That the Grotto he was in differed in size and decoration and in its very feeling made that emotion of his somewhat awkward; nevertheless, here before him stood the likeness of Famathra, whose essence and true Being he could open up to and turn to very well in this place, and with this reminder of Her before his eyes.  
Wordlessly he took out the twice five lengths of blood-red and black cords and handed them out to his wenadorani friends, and bound his own two around his left upper arm, officially declaring himself a mourner of a relative having fallen in the prime of his or her years, especially in war-or having been killed by murder.

Two other worshipers saw the group approaching which was apparently preparing for a funerary ritual, and quietly left, bowing in respect. That was not mandatory or custom one had to strictly obey, but it showed good manners, especially if one had a look at the face of the one leading who must be the person concerned-his gaze showed that he had withdrawn into himself quite far and clearly had stepped into Famathra’s Circle.

Silently Atlan bowed to them in thanks and carefully set down the tripod for sacrifice in front of the Goddess’ image, looking up at Her and bowing in Homage, raising his open hands to her in supplication and devotion.

As he had always known Her, She wore a black bodysuit, and a blood-red mantle with a white hood, the colours of war and bloody death, but also of freedom and forgiveness. Upon her outstretched hands lay a sword, its naked blade gleaming, while at her waist the empty sheath hung. As ready as Famathra appeared to fight and kill, as ready she was to sheathe the sword and turn to mercy, forgiveness, and peace. The Sword had two sides, always and in every case.

At the Goddess’ feet, the Pitcher stood, which was aptly called the “Chalice of Tears”. From it, put up at a wake, bitter water was served as a symbol of the tears one shed for the deceased, but the drink-and the libation one made with the cup mounted beside the Pitcher on its stand- was as much a symbol of sorrow and remorse, and of forgiveness. Famathra was the Goddess of Death and Destruction, of the merciless Cycle of Life, but also of Rebirth and Reawakening; like the Sword, she had two sides, religiously in charge of merciless and bloody war and revenge, but also as much of forgiveness and Life Returning. She it was who guarded the souls of the dead until they were reborn again.  
In her keeping Lesena’s soul now was, and Kelta’s and Getray’s, the soul of the Tai Kha’Laktrote Denios da Pert and of Khesal the attendant. So were the souls of Taneth, the captain of the TONDON, of Alos and Tunuter and the others of his Silvers and of the crewmen and crewwomen of his father’s ship. Them he had called upon to hear him now, to know him again for this short stretch of time since he had entered the Mirkan Huhany, and he felt their presence now, their pain of death and life lost so suddenly, taken by murderers, still known to them since the Goddess had not washed that pain away yet. He had promised them vengeance, and both the Goddess and his beloved dead must have heard him with the emotions burning so strongly in his heart.

In this ritual dedicated to them, dedicated to Famathra and the vengeance he would vow to his beloved dead, to all the dead of the TONDON, he would have to address them out loud under slightly different names, veiled so the Makarsans having come with him would not know whom he really was speaking to. But the dead would know, and the Goddess would know. Neither would he speak to Her under his own name out loud, but he would say it in his heart-and then, the person of Cunor Lant’cer was no lie or any fabrication at all. He was created out of his own heart and soul and mind, an aspect of Atlan da Gonozal who never could have lived as he was at the Gos Khasurn. But here and now, he was who, and what, the Gos athor da Arkon had had to become in order to survive and to do his duty to his uncle the Tai Moas and to his peoples, the peoples of the Tai Ark’Tussan. In one and a half Votani he would be twelve and should give his oath then at the Tai Mirkan Huhany upon Gos Ranton. Somehow he had begun to doubt whether he would manage to get home till that date and that occasion. But nevertheless, he was what, and who, he was, under the guise of one Cunor Lant’cer as much as under his own Eldrith name. The Goddess knew him, and she knew his heart.

As silently the young prince knelt behind that tripod and laid another piece of scented wood into it. The fragrance used was that of the Ellyaria, whose blooms were glowing dark red in the night and meant constancy of the heart even within darkness; doubly fitting now that it was a murdered ship’s crew that wood would burn for. Taking the piece of cloth from his pocket he held it in his hand for a khela, closing his eyes and thinking of his beloved ones whose blood had soaked into this fabric. He felt their presence now as if they were standing before him, reaching out to him- Lesena, who had guided and taught him and loved him, and Kelta, who every day of his life had protected him, standing in the fore, looking at him with love still.

A tear ran down Atlan’s cheek. But he would not gift his beloved dead with only tears today. He laid the soiled piece of his jacket-sleeve onto the wood and took out his vibro-knife. With a swift and decisive movement, he cut a thick strand out of his hair and bound it with red and black string, to add to the gifts he would burn for the dead. Then he stood and reverently bowed to the Goddess, whose presence was huge, spiritually and no less energetically now that he had entered Her Place and Her Circle. That feeling would become stronger when he would invoke Her, and She would truly be present to bear Witness and to Hear him, and Keep his vow in the name of the dead ones she was protecting and keeping safe till they would leave for the Circle of Life again.

Stepping up to the dais the statue’s hologram seemingly stood upon he took the silvery cup from its stand and plunged it into the pitcher, withdrawing it half-filled with the bitter, salty water the vessel contained. Taking the cup down he bowed ceremonially to the Goddess once more and returned to his place, kneeling down once more and putting the cup before him, and sat back on his heels.

Rhonn was deeply impressed and knew that his wenadorani brothers and sister felt no different. They had expected some solemn words and perhaps a small mehandor ceremony they were not familiar with. But Cunor’s precise formality, all those bows, and his silence were even more impressive and gave one a certain sense of foreboding. This was not going to be but a promise of vengeance as he had given it when he spoke to Karena and him, the young gang-leader thought. This was going to be a very formal Vow given in a very formal and ancient ritual. Very obviously the mehandor had kept ceremonies and traditions alive in their ships as they had been thousands of Tai-Votani ago when first these ships had lifted and the traders had become the mehandor in truth, a people of their own right in the Tai Ark’Tussan. No different a noble might go about this business, as it was perhaps not happening by chance. Cunor had been taught by his step-mother how to behave like an On and the scion of a real Khasurn. What a mehandor youth might have of tradition and its practices, a kath-zarak youth trained to act like a noble might have of elegance and power of speech, being able to say and do things the way they had been said and done since the Empire began.

“Lesanna my mother, Tan Aloroy my father, captain of our ship, Kel my brother. You were nearest to me all my life, gave that life to me and protected me, loved me. That love has not ended, and I still bear it within my heart, as I will do it till I die and my heart stops beating as yours have done.”

There was a little pause, then Cunor took a deep breath and continued.  
“Getray my little sister, Deni my uncle and teacher, Kes my friend who helped me and watched over me-what you would have given to me, and what we would have had together, has been cut short and never will be now. What we had I cherish; what was taken from us I mourn. All that is left to me now is your memory.”

Karena fought to keep from sobbing loudly. As quietly as she could she let her tears run down her cheeks, and saw how affected and deeply impressed the boys of her wenadoran were, too. What Cunor was saying was almost poetic, and had a formality to it and a tone as if he was quoting ancient lays and verses from a drama, only slightly altering them to fit the occasion.

“Alos and Tuno my friends, ready to fight for the clan and the ship, you and all our mates from our ship, from our Songbird that sings no longer but has gone up in flames as did you: I cannot say how much I regret never being able to hear your voices again, feel your touch, see your faces. One day within another world my eyes will see you again with joy, and my hands will touch yours with joy. Till then we must part, but hope is left as a flame within even the darkest of Dark Stars.” 

The young mehandor took up the knife again which he had laid at the ready, and held it up in his hand.

“Mother! Father! Brother! Sister! All you my beloved ones who have died upon the ship which was our Safe Hold! See me now, and know me again for this moment in time! Hear me, and attend me!”

Cunor closed his left hand around the blade and held to it tightly, his knuckles white.

“Murdering hands have taken your lives. To you, and to them and the ones who gave the orders, I speak now.”

With a swift and almost savage move of his right hand, Atlan drew the knife’s blade across the palm of his left and felt the deep cut only like a burning shock of cold. Dark blood was welling up immediately.  
Stretching out his hand he let the blood run down his fingers and into the cup standing before him, putting the knife down. The bitter water in the cup turned reddish very swiftly.  
Taking up the cup he stood with an elegant motion, making a fist and putting the cut hand to his right shoulder.

“Fhamathra! She’huana! Echakhe-Lhorane thmanaareken Lokhedheen Khasurne da mermen marristhris ian rudhira.”

This was ancient, and the most formal speech one might hear even upon Tiga Ranton, the Three Worlds of Arkon themselves, Rhonn realized with awe. Whatever mehan’ drawl Cunor spoke on other occasions, right now he was using words of ancient ritual which had a ring and a beauty to them he never had heard before. He even had to consciously translate them into common speech for him to understand properly. Cunor had addressed the Goddess and begged her to keep safe the souls of the Dead of his family, of “the Khasurn of our Vow and our blood”. 

“Fhamathra! Ah’sanema!” 

“Famathra! Bear witness!” Yes, this was the most formal of any Vow before the Goddess Cunor could give, Rhonn thought, suddenly shivering. Whatever he gave his vow for now his new friend and Bonded Brother would keep to death and beyond, as the saying went. 

“She’Huana! Lhorane!”

And now he was invoking Her to be Keeper for his Vow. Gods, literally. The young gang-leader felt how dry his mouth and throat had suddenly become, and swallowed. What was happening at this tonta here in this temple he would never forget all his life long, as much he was sure of.

“Mayloryan maylorai, my beloved ones. Marristhro. This vow I make. Laseniy saryon ephrolassornen ian rudhiren ian lokken loccureke sornakheke. I will give you revenge, the blood, and the death of your murderers. Ethrenan-ke toonscelca. This I confirm with my word.”

In a ceremonial gesture, he poured the contents of the cup, the somewhat darkened and reddish water, upon the ground before the feet of the goddess. The Cup was Spent, and Revenge was Vowed.

Closing his eyes the young prince reached out with his mind and soul and all his emotions, his heart open and trusting, and laid himself and his thoughts and feelings into the hands of the Goddess he almost physically felt before him. She was the Keeper now of this Vow, and its truth and the truth of his heart. And she was the Keeper of what was left of his second mother and the bodyguard who had been like a friend and a brother to him indeed. Their souls knew, he was sure of this; almost he could touch them, and he felt their love and the reassurance and grim satisfaction, and the gratefulness they bore him physically as a great wave of heat spreading from his heart through his whole body. He felt safe and secure in the hands of the Goddess, and also judged and accepted. She saw the truth of his heart and knew him to be true in every way to the Vow he had made. She had borne witness and Knew.

With a deep bow, he put back the cup, and stood for another khela facing the Goddess and his beloved dead whom She was guarding, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his fists touching his shoulders, the formal pose one used to give a Blood Vow. He was committed now for his life, and no-one could change that or release him from his obligation, not even his father the Tai Mascant or his uncle the Tai Moas da Arkon Himself. What he had vowed was his own duty towards the dead of the TONDON. They had died for him and his sake.

Stepping back and lowering his arms the young mehandor bowed once more to the Goddess, then he turned and came back, inclining his head slightly to his awed and silent friends, and once more knelt before the tripod, taking up the lighter which came with it.

Rhonn and Karena came forward, and knelt behind their friend and Bonded Brother, the young woman on the left, the female side, the boss of the wenadoran on the right, and laid their hands upon Cunor’s shoulders. He had come to face the Dead, but with him came the Living. He had lost a brother and a sister and had vowed revenge for their deaths to them. Yet he was not without a living brother and a living sister now, having won Rhonn as his Bonded Brother and Karena as his Bonded Sister with the wenadoran.  
Still standing Aday and Selaron followed up, putting their hands upon the shoulders of the kneeling young man and the kneeling woman. They too were Cunor’s brothers now, and here to support him. They were five, which was the number of Life, and could face the Dead with heads held high and hearts open this way. 

Silently Atlan tapped the lighter and set the wood on fire from below. It burned immediately with a clear and very hot flame, a good omen if ever there was one to interpret the message the dead would send, in common belief. The piece of cloth and the strand of hair caught fire the next moment and went up in a blaze as searing.  
Clenching his fist once more the young prince made the cut bleed strongly again and let the red drops fall into the flames, which began to dance and softly hiss, and burned his blood as cleanly as the piece of cloth with Lesena’s and Kelta’s blood, and his strand of hair dedicated to them.

“Nhanyone, ian loranthon kheryone a shefale She’Huane. Go, and be kept safe within the hand of the Goddess”, the young mehandor said softly and looked into the flames till they died down with nothing left in the fire bowl, his hands making the sign of farewell. Then he looked up and met the gazes of his wenadorani brothers and sister, smiling a little.

“Thank you for being with me, here and now, my Bonded Friends”, he said. They could see how touched and affected Cunor was, and how much he fought tears once more.  
Rhonn grinned and gave him a pat. “That’s what Bonded Friends are for, isn’t it, merchanter mate?” he responded and got up, holding out his hand to the young mehandor.  
“Like you were there for us, and risked yourself without another thought. Now let us come away, and leave the Dead behind. It is time the Living should get something into their stomachs so they can go on living. Ihri has promised to welcome us back with another good meal.”


End file.
